I am sad to say that this will be my last blog entry from Chinese soil. I might do a final “wrap-up” edition or something when I get home, but I'm not sure yet. I'll still have the amazing journey home to write about, but I don't know. I don't really want to spoil it, y'know? But then again, I did start this blog before I left Canada, so I might as well finish it there too. Ok, enough pandering, time to recap!
I've been in China for nearly 7 weeks now, and I've experienced all sorts of new things that I've never seen before. The food, the people and their strange, sometimes backwards customs, the pollution, crazy drivers, and of course, a new language. I am disappointed with myself for not making more of an effort to learn the language in the years leading up to this trip. I knew, marrying a Chinese girl, that this day would come, but I guess I'm still trying to learn to use English to its full potential, and a totally new language might throw my writing off-kilter. Yeah, that's a pretty good excuse. I'll use that one.
I never really thought about how differently people think and act in different countries around the world. In Canada, you can pretty much think and do anything you want as long as you don’t hurt anyone or break any laws. Even then, there is a lot of leeway on freedoms, and rules can indeed be bent. Not so over here in China. Sure, nobody really follows traffic laws, and I'm pretty sure the majority of people cheat on their taxes over here, but in the privacy of the family home, there are more rules, customs and pressures than we could ever handle in Canada. To start with, most families are very patriarchal, with the father or mother calling all the shots, and I guess dictating what other people should do without ever facing any backlash. Sure, I respect my elders and war veterans and the like, but we have sort of an understanding that times have changed, and what they know might not necessarily be right for today's youth. In China, you can't say that to a parent. Mommy or Daddy knows best, and that's just the way it is.
Gift-giving is very strange in China. Most people won't accept gifts, and will physically harm you if you try to pick up the bill at a restaurant. I think it could be one of two things; Either everyone is too proud to accept gifts because it might show that they are needy; or maybe, gifts are two often given under false pretenses over here. That is, the only reason some people will give a gift, is that they can now expect something in return. I actually felt this first hand. On my arrival, I asked a family member where I could exchange some Canadian dollars for Chinese Yuan. I've heard about currency control over here, and that you can't just walk into a store and purchase something in Canadian, or even US dollars. You have to go through a few channels to get money exchanged, and it often takes a while. I could have done it at the airport back in Vancouver, but I was in too much of a rush to even think about it. Anyway, the family member scoffed at my request, and said something like “You're our guest. Anything you want, just ask and we'll buy it for you.” That sounded a bit too good to be true, and was indeed said under false pretenses.
My wife was heading out to the mall one day and asked me if I needed anything. I asked if she could get me a pair of shorts to take back to Canada – it will be too hot to run in my jogging pants when the temperature warms up a bit. She said fine, but when she returned, there was a huge argument between her and the family member who originally made the offer. It was believed that I had demanded the shorts, and not offered to pay for them. Hey, if money is an issue, I have a whole pile of Canadian bills sitting here that nobody wants me to exchange. That bird has flown the coop. If you didn't want to buy me anything, why ask me? People have bought me things, but only when they were chosen by someone else and given to me because they figured I could use it. A scarf for example, was given to me by a family member. I’ll never use that scarf again back in Vancouver, but during the whole shorts argument, the value of said scarf was brought up, and how I've already received so much, how could I be so greedy to ask for something I want? Heck, I thought that was the deal in exchange for not exchanging any money? Maybe I misunderstood. I guess I received under false pretenses.
To combine the patriarchal and gift-giving scenarios, there is a Chinese custom that parents should always put their children through college. This would be fine if the kid got to decide what to study, where, and what sort of certificate they wanted i.e how far to go. My wife for instance, was sent to Canada with the understanding that she would receive a Doctor's degree and one day return to China to help better the country. Her path was already chosen for her. But once she got out of the country and discovered that Canadian students can choose their own major, decide when they’ve had enough or even drop out, then I think the 2 cultures clashed. Still to this day, she receives pressure from her family to keep going to school. She already has a Bachelor's Degree, which is more than I can say for myself, but apparently that is not enough.
I used to think that if somebody wanted to pay for my education, than I'd be all for it. Actually, money is the only thing that's preventing me from going back to school at this time. (Let's just say I want to get one student loan paid off before I sign up for another one.) But with the added pressure, I don't think I'd want to accept the money. There we go with the giving under false pretenses scenario again. I get the sense that there is no such thing as “no strings attached” over here. My mother-m-law actually offered to lend me the money to go back to school, but I decided to politely decline. There's no telling what type of trash talk would go on if I took that money. And what would the repayment schedule be like? “As long as you owe me this money, I own you?” I'd rather pass on the offer thanks. It's very nice that you'd offer it and bring up the Chinese culture and what not, but my own personal culture, no matter what country I'm from, says that I live and die for one thing – myself. Not in the selfish sense, like I don't think of anyone else's feelings. I'm just not going to do something because someone else thinks it would be good for me. If I want to go back to school badly enough, I'll find a way to pay for it, and then nobody can take credit in my success. I could probably write a whole book on that subject, but I won't. Let's just leave it at this: I live by DIY ethics and I'll probably starve to death by them, but there's nothing anybody can do to change that about me.
Now that I've covered the family politics to some degree, I think I should brush on actual politics. We live in a democratic society (or at least we think we do) where the people control the government. If we don't like something or if something smells fishy, the people of Canada will mostly step up and voice their opinions. You see this with MAWO (Mobilization Against War and Occupation) and other such organizations stepping up to protest Canada's potential involvement in the travesty that is the war in Iraq. If leaders in our community step up, politicians are forced to listen, or get out and bring in someone new who will listen to the people who elected him or her. Sure there are flaws, every system has flaws, but let's look back at that bolded statement I made back there. Here in China, the opposite can be said. The government controls the people. Actually, most Chinese people criticize the West for giving too much control to common citizens. Afterall, how would they know how to run a country? They just live there and pay the taxes that buy their so-called representatives a cushy salary and all the perks you could imagine and then some. It’s that way of thinking that leads to a very unhappy populace and eventually they are gonna revolt – unless of course you put the fear into ‘em.
Religion is not very popular here in China, at lease not practicing it. There are still rituals taking place on every street corner though, which I think are more of a tool to control people from rising up and speaking their mind. The Taoist religion, as well as Buddhism are still engrained in Chinese society, whether or not people are going to a temple and praying. Every time someone dies in China, there are mourners who pay their respects in interesting, if not peculiar ways. For example, I see small bonfires on street corners all around Harbin, where locals burn fake money in a little pile. I'm sure they burn real money too, but I see little carts everywhere that sell funny money just to burn in memory of a loved one. Don't ask me how that got started, but I'm sure it helps the economy. “Burn what you earn! The paper bills are just about worthless anyway! The more you burn, the more you'll help to curb inflation!” I think the U.S. is trying to do the opposite now – they are printing money faster than Disney prints coloring books, but maybe they should burn a stack of greenbacks for every US soldier who has lost his or her life in pointless wars. Now that'll get the economy back on track. It's the fashionable thing to do over here in China, why not join in?
Speaking of fashion, there are some articles of clothing that have religious or cultural tie-ins. No, I'm not talking about Buddha t-shirts or monk's cloaks, but adornments that show a certain thing about you, without you having to say a word. I mentioned earlier about the ways of mourning the dead over here. Well, there is one other tradition that I found to be interesting. If you see someone with a black cloth pinned around their arm (much like Jewish POWs back in WWII) then it means a parent has recently died. Different arm means different parent, and it varies for boys or girls. This might be wrong, but I think it's “boy's left arm = father died” &“Girl's left arm = mother died”. Also, if there is a smaller, red cloth wrapped on top of the black one, it means a grandparent died. Same goes; different arm for each gender. I suppose if you see someone wearing this, you are supposed to move out of their way on the street or maybe not cut in front of them in line. I'm not sure the exact reason for displaying the colour black like that. Maybe it's just a respect for the dead thing, but it's pretty common to know somebody who has died if you live over here. Afterall, with such a huge population, somebody is bound to die every minute or so.
That brings me to the population. It's huge! In the northern city of Harbin, it's not quite as evident as some of the larger cities. It's still overblown here, but I think the colder climate and the more industry-heavy economy has driven, or at least kept the people who aren't as tough away. When I went to Beijing, I saw the other side of the coin. There's a city on the move, with a technology-based economy and an ever-growing, youth-oriented group of professionals taking over. In Canada, our nation is dominated by the Baby Boomers, or those approaching senior-citizenry, but in Beijing, I think it's going in the other direction. It seems like the youth movement is strong there, and retirement is probably better enjoyed some place quieter and slower-paced. I for one don't want to be dodging speeding traffic and being pushed and shoved on a subway platform when I'm 90. But then again, that's just me. Maybe Beijing will be the headquarters for a new youth movement where the old patriarchal ideals are obliterated. For the sake of the next generation, I sure hope so.
Such a huge population would undoubtedly cause more problems than just congested automobile and pedestrian traffic. I can tell that the health care system in China is pretty much inaccessible for the majority of people, unless they have money. I could tell that by the number or frost-bitten, toeless people wailing at the marketplace, and the general ignorance for one's personal well-being. Maybe it's considered selfish to go to the doctor's office for that little scrape. Heck, you can stitch that up yourself! Michael Moore should come over here and do “Sicko Vol 2”. He might be shocked at what he sees. I did hear something interesting though. If you give blood in China, a monetary credit can be put towards your next medical bills. Most people will just take the cash, but if you are really responsible, you can realize the full potential of that intravenous insurance policy flowing through your veins. As Canada, BC in particular, flirts with the idea of “pay-for-priority” and private medical clinics, maybe this blood idea would come in handy. I gotta say, China is one step up in that regard. I once asked a nurse at Canadian Blood Services why I don't get paid my blood, and she told me that if money was offered, the wrong type of donors would be attracted. A.k.a. people who really need the money. Then, if someone is turned away, they will be furious. Actually, the nurse said that they used to pay for blood back in the old days, but too many people were lying on that questionnaire they get you to fill out, and it ends up putting more of a strain on the medical system because they have to re-test the blood and destroy it if it turns out to be unsafe.
Let's talk about safety for a moment. Yesterday I say 2 men repairing some bricks on the side of a tall apartment building. There they were, hanging in the air on a backyard swing propelled from a rather frayed-looking rope, held by a young fellow up on the roof. No safety harness, no net to catch them in case they fell. You wouldn’t catch me up there, that's for sure. Actually, if I fell, nobody would catch me DOWN there either, and that's precisely why I wouldn't do it. Seatbelts are another topic of discussion. When my wife and I get into a taxi, we immediately buckle up. I don't know if it's a force of habit for her, but I do it for my personal safety and mental well-being. Drivers immediately know we are foreigners because “Nobody wears a seat belt around here.” Some taxis don't even offer seatbelts, and forget about bracing for impact. My wife got ragged on for putting her foot up against the glove box while we sped into oncoming traffic. She was honestly bracing for impact. But do you think the driver apologized for making his passengers feel uncomfortable? No, he insulted her for having no manners, and started saying that her parents must not have done a very good job of raising someone with no manners. What a joke! If you saw the way people drive over here, you'd fear for your life too!
Life in China must be difficult for a young person today. I'm edging up on 25 now, so I'm not exactly a child, but I still feel inadequate over here. The whole “respect your elders” credo has gotten a bit out of hand, to the point that you can't disagree with someone if they are older than you by a couple of weeks. Even calling someone older than you by their first name is rude. You are supposed to address him as “uncle” regardless of your family relations. Here we might have the most ignorant, chain-smoking alcoholic loser in the world, but I still have to glorify him by calling him “uncle”. No thanks.
I'm thankful for being brought along on this trip. Don't take my above observations as a sign of dislike for the Chinese people or anything like that. Quite the contrary! Besides, I don't want to get shot or “disappear” as so many people over here do. I've just noticed a few things that have made my trip a bit uncomfortable at times, but I'm glad I got to experience a new culture like this. If I never left my comfy Canadian lifestyle, I wouldn't ever be able to appreciate what an easy life we all have in the great white north. Sure, we may complain that there are too many people in the crowded parking lots, and how the movie theatre is always packed when we try to get a good seat, but believe me, it could be a lot worse. I think I might actually start appreciating what we have in Canada before it's gone. This trip has at least opened my eyes to that.
There are lots of positive aspects to my journey to China, and you can read all about them in my previous blog entries if you have the time. Today, I just wanted to clear a few things out of my mind and get them off my chest. I don't imagine I'm 100% right or accurate with what I have said here, but then again, nobody is 100% right 100% of the time, and that's the beauty of writing in this form. I can express my opinions any way I want and I am grateful for this opportunity. If you've actually taken the time to read this in its entirety, I just want to thank you for giving me your time. There are plenty of other things you could be doing right now, like getting out there and exploring another culture, or better yet, discovering your own. Whatever you do, make sure you write about it, or at least take pictures. Thanks for accompanying me on my little trip to big China. I hope you've enjoyed my visit as much as I have.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
March 14th - The Name is Ling... Bo Ling
Last night we went out bowling with my wife's cousin and his girlfriend – a sort of double date if you will. I think you will. Anyway, we got in a taxi and headed to the Bowlarama, only when the taxi stopped, I didn’t see the bowling alley anywhere. “Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked my wife. She assured me it was, and led me through a set of revolving doors and into a hotel lobby. Okay, I thought, maybe we were meeting the cousin here and then going to the bowling alley. Now it all makes sense.
Actually, I learned something today - that you can always find a bowling alley where you least expect it. Up on the second floor of the hotel, there was a modest-sized bowling alley, complete with Hello Kitty bowling balls that you could rent for a modest price. I was tempted, but used a house ball instead. I still couldn't get over the location of this bowling alley! From the outside of the hotel, there was no bowling-pin shaped neon sign or anything! How was I supposed to know that inside, there were strikes and spares and seven-ten splits galore? But now that I was inside, I told the shoe rental clerk to “spare” me the pleasantries. I hate to “bowl” someone over, but I gotta “split”. I've got some pins to knock down!
At first, I was pretty rusty. It's been a while since I rolled a big heavy round object down a long, waxed surface towards 10 free-standing pillars painted white with little red stripes at the top. In fact, I can't think of any other situation that I could perform such an act, aside from maybe that carnival game where you try to knock over the lead milk bottles with a stuffed baseball. But then it's more of a throw, not so much a roll. After about 3 or 4 frames, I got back in the swing of things and I was really rollin'. With the first game in the books, I came out as winner, but only by about 4 pins. My wife was hot on my tail for the whole game, and my low score was more of a help to her than a sore in my saddle. I was having a great time.
To my left, there was a man bowling all by himself. He looked to be semi-competitive, because he wasn't wasting any time. He had 3 names up there on the screen, and it looked like he was always trying to beat the last score. Maybe he has some sort of multiple-bowler personality disorder. I watched him closely though, because he had incredible technique, and managed to hit about 3 strikes in a row. If this was soccer baseball, nobody would ever score a run, or goal or whatever they go by in that pseudo-sport. A Wicket, maybe? Heck I forget. They always let the kid in the wheelchair be pitcher in my gym class anyway. I mean, I understand that you want to make him feel happy and all, but I hated being on his team. He barely dove for any grounders, and he wasn't the greatest pitcher either. Yeah I know, I'm probably going to hell for writing this, but at least they'll have decent pitching down there. I'm pretty sure Roger Clemens will be headed down south after this whole steroid use/perjury nonsense.
Now back to the Bowling alley. After I picked up a few pointers from Hand Solo over there, I was rockin' AND rollin'. I hit 3 strikes in a row, followed by 2 spares! I was killin' it! On one of the spares though, there was a malfunction and the little arm that picks up the pins you left standing actually knocked them down instead. The barrier raised again to reveal an empty lane. “What do I do?” I asked. “Just chuck one” said my wife. So I let 'er rip as hard as I could and lo and behold, the computer said I knocked it down. This happened a couple more times, but usually only to me. That's a little wacky, and your serious bowler might get a little upset, but hey, this was working out in my favour! I just came to have a god time, and I actually bowled one of the best games of my life! I have to give some credit to the machine though. I had some help now and again from my pals over at Brunswick Bowling Equipment. The must have heard I was from New Brunswick, so you know, they want to cheer on the home team. Thanks guys!
Actually, I learned something today - that you can always find a bowling alley where you least expect it. Up on the second floor of the hotel, there was a modest-sized bowling alley, complete with Hello Kitty bowling balls that you could rent for a modest price. I was tempted, but used a house ball instead. I still couldn't get over the location of this bowling alley! From the outside of the hotel, there was no bowling-pin shaped neon sign or anything! How was I supposed to know that inside, there were strikes and spares and seven-ten splits galore? But now that I was inside, I told the shoe rental clerk to “spare” me the pleasantries. I hate to “bowl” someone over, but I gotta “split”. I've got some pins to knock down!
At first, I was pretty rusty. It's been a while since I rolled a big heavy round object down a long, waxed surface towards 10 free-standing pillars painted white with little red stripes at the top. In fact, I can't think of any other situation that I could perform such an act, aside from maybe that carnival game where you try to knock over the lead milk bottles with a stuffed baseball. But then it's more of a throw, not so much a roll. After about 3 or 4 frames, I got back in the swing of things and I was really rollin'. With the first game in the books, I came out as winner, but only by about 4 pins. My wife was hot on my tail for the whole game, and my low score was more of a help to her than a sore in my saddle. I was having a great time.
To my left, there was a man bowling all by himself. He looked to be semi-competitive, because he wasn't wasting any time. He had 3 names up there on the screen, and it looked like he was always trying to beat the last score. Maybe he has some sort of multiple-bowler personality disorder. I watched him closely though, because he had incredible technique, and managed to hit about 3 strikes in a row. If this was soccer baseball, nobody would ever score a run, or goal or whatever they go by in that pseudo-sport. A Wicket, maybe? Heck I forget. They always let the kid in the wheelchair be pitcher in my gym class anyway. I mean, I understand that you want to make him feel happy and all, but I hated being on his team. He barely dove for any grounders, and he wasn't the greatest pitcher either. Yeah I know, I'm probably going to hell for writing this, but at least they'll have decent pitching down there. I'm pretty sure Roger Clemens will be headed down south after this whole steroid use/perjury nonsense.
Now back to the Bowling alley. After I picked up a few pointers from Hand Solo over there, I was rockin' AND rollin'. I hit 3 strikes in a row, followed by 2 spares! I was killin' it! On one of the spares though, there was a malfunction and the little arm that picks up the pins you left standing actually knocked them down instead. The barrier raised again to reveal an empty lane. “What do I do?” I asked. “Just chuck one” said my wife. So I let 'er rip as hard as I could and lo and behold, the computer said I knocked it down. This happened a couple more times, but usually only to me. That's a little wacky, and your serious bowler might get a little upset, but hey, this was working out in my favour! I just came to have a god time, and I actually bowled one of the best games of my life! I have to give some credit to the machine though. I had some help now and again from my pals over at Brunswick Bowling Equipment. The must have heard I was from New Brunswick, so you know, they want to cheer on the home team. Thanks guys!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
March 13th - The Great Scrape
Have you ever heard of the Chinese Bath Houses? I used to picture a giant sauna and hot tub, where men & women wash themselves once a week to keep the lice and ticks away. Well, I found out first hand what it's all about. The "Harbin Modern Recreational Centre" has one thing the old bath houses of the past don't have - people to wash you. Now I'm not talking about a person who stands there in the shower with you. "Pass me the soap, will ya?" But rather a trained professional in the art of dermabrasion.
To start off, you have to strip down to your flip flops and join the rest of the unwashed masses in a huge bathroom. No, it's gender specific, unfortunately. The dudes go in one side and the dudettes int he other. Still, I felt a little bit uneasy standing around in my birthday suit. Especially when some guy named wong was staring at my wang. I wish I knew how to say "Jealous?" in Chinese, but instead I just winked at him. That seemed to scare him off.
Now, after the gawkers had their fill, I sat down in a huge hot tub. Actually they have 2 hot tubs - one is just hot, and the other one is scalding. I couldn't stay in the scalding tub for too long or my organs would start to cook. So, I just par-boiled myself and moved on. They also have a "cold tub" here which I found interesting. It's like a hot tub, only the water is ice cold. Needless to say, I didn't feel like racing my heart today, so I skipped that one.
After I sat around and dried off a bit, I moved on to the final, and most important stage - the scraping of the dead skin. That sounds a bit like a horror movie, doesn't it? "The Scraping of the Dead". I'd watch it. Actually the real version is kinda scary the first time you see it, but you learn to get used to it. Firt off, you lie on a massage table covered in saran wrap, and someone pours warm water all over you. The, using a special sandpaper mitt, a dude starts rubbing your skin from head to toe, releasing any tough dirt buildup and dead skin that is left on your body. I imagine a few layers of live skin come off too, because my chest was looking like a lobster tail by the end of it. He then asks you to roll over on your stomach. Being naked, my natural reaction was to clench - everything. But he asked me to relax, or at least that's what I think he asked me. He scraped my back, my gluteus maximus, and finally, in between my toes and the soles of my feet. That one tickled.
After I was a few layers of skin lighter, I was told I'm supposed to rub salt all over my body and go into the sauna. I did this, and I gotta tell ya, it burned baby. I don't know if the salt is supposed to seal all my timy wounds from the sandpaper, but I got some in my eyes, and boy did it hurt. Like the tubs, there are 2 saunas. Hot, and furnace. You're supposed to stay in there until all the salt liquifies and runs off your body, so I went inside the furnace to speed up the process. I couldn't stay in there much longer than 5 minutes, and when I emerged I felt like jumping in the cold bath, but I held back. Instead, I was given a razor and a squirt of shaving cream. They say after the sauna is the best time to shave. So I did, and yeah, they were right! Shaving has never been so easy, and I managed to avoid gashing myself up!
After I finished my shave, I jumped in the shower and reached over for the supplied body wash. There were 2 types - aloe, and milk. Milk? Okay, whatever. I washed myself in milk for the first time today. You'd think it would go sour, sitting there in the shower, but actually, it gave me some new power! My skin was still feeling a bit "open" from all the scraping, but when I applied the milk, that feeling abated. Now I felt great! I had just come from a 10K run before the bath house, and when I weighed myself on the way out, I saw that I had lost 2 Kilos! That can't be right can it? Well, actually, now that I think about it, all that dead skin they scraped off me probably weighs quite a bit. Now that I think about it, maybe that's where the term "skinny" came from. "Look at that guy, they scraped him all over and now half of his skin is on the floor. Let's call him skinny."
To start off, you have to strip down to your flip flops and join the rest of the unwashed masses in a huge bathroom. No, it's gender specific, unfortunately. The dudes go in one side and the dudettes int he other. Still, I felt a little bit uneasy standing around in my birthday suit. Especially when some guy named wong was staring at my wang. I wish I knew how to say "Jealous?" in Chinese, but instead I just winked at him. That seemed to scare him off.
Now, after the gawkers had their fill, I sat down in a huge hot tub. Actually they have 2 hot tubs - one is just hot, and the other one is scalding. I couldn't stay in the scalding tub for too long or my organs would start to cook. So, I just par-boiled myself and moved on. They also have a "cold tub" here which I found interesting. It's like a hot tub, only the water is ice cold. Needless to say, I didn't feel like racing my heart today, so I skipped that one.
After I sat around and dried off a bit, I moved on to the final, and most important stage - the scraping of the dead skin. That sounds a bit like a horror movie, doesn't it? "The Scraping of the Dead". I'd watch it. Actually the real version is kinda scary the first time you see it, but you learn to get used to it. Firt off, you lie on a massage table covered in saran wrap, and someone pours warm water all over you. The, using a special sandpaper mitt, a dude starts rubbing your skin from head to toe, releasing any tough dirt buildup and dead skin that is left on your body. I imagine a few layers of live skin come off too, because my chest was looking like a lobster tail by the end of it. He then asks you to roll over on your stomach. Being naked, my natural reaction was to clench - everything. But he asked me to relax, or at least that's what I think he asked me. He scraped my back, my gluteus maximus, and finally, in between my toes and the soles of my feet. That one tickled.
After I was a few layers of skin lighter, I was told I'm supposed to rub salt all over my body and go into the sauna. I did this, and I gotta tell ya, it burned baby. I don't know if the salt is supposed to seal all my timy wounds from the sandpaper, but I got some in my eyes, and boy did it hurt. Like the tubs, there are 2 saunas. Hot, and furnace. You're supposed to stay in there until all the salt liquifies and runs off your body, so I went inside the furnace to speed up the process. I couldn't stay in there much longer than 5 minutes, and when I emerged I felt like jumping in the cold bath, but I held back. Instead, I was given a razor and a squirt of shaving cream. They say after the sauna is the best time to shave. So I did, and yeah, they were right! Shaving has never been so easy, and I managed to avoid gashing myself up!
After I finished my shave, I jumped in the shower and reached over for the supplied body wash. There were 2 types - aloe, and milk. Milk? Okay, whatever. I washed myself in milk for the first time today. You'd think it would go sour, sitting there in the shower, but actually, it gave me some new power! My skin was still feeling a bit "open" from all the scraping, but when I applied the milk, that feeling abated. Now I felt great! I had just come from a 10K run before the bath house, and when I weighed myself on the way out, I saw that I had lost 2 Kilos! That can't be right can it? Well, actually, now that I think about it, all that dead skin they scraped off me probably weighs quite a bit. Now that I think about it, maybe that's where the term "skinny" came from. "Look at that guy, they scraped him all over and now half of his skin is on the floor. Let's call him skinny."
March 12th - And the Polar Bears Were Boiled in their Tanks
I sorta borrowed the title for today's entry from an early Beat Generation novel called “And the Hippos Were Boiled in their Tanks” because I think it fits in a way. Yesterday we decided to make use of out limited time here in China by going across the river to see some animals. My wife loves animals of all sorts – dogs, cats, birds, slugs, you name it. When I first arrived in Harbin some six weeks ago, I noticed a sign at the airport for “Harbin Polarland” which showed some penguins wearing sunglasses, and a father and son tobogganing with a Polar Bear. Looked like a good time!
Aside from Polarland, there is also a Tiger Preservation Centre over on the other side of the river. It's sort of a nature reserve dedicated to the preservation and breeding of large cats. My wife missed our family cat I guess, because next thing I knew, we were on a safari through this semi-large grassland full of roaming tigers. For 40 Yuan, you could order a live chicken and watch them feed it to a huge adult tiger right in front of your eyes. We did, and I must say, I've never seen a chicken crap out its intestines before, but once the tiger put a big Chomp on the bird’s stomach, you might say it was scared shitless.
After the mobile tour was over, we were allowed to roam around in the breeding centre. Here they would put a male and a female of the same species (or sometimes not) to hopefully produce an offspring. Actually, there was a bit of playing God going on, because they had lions and tigers together in the same pen, in order to produce Liger cubs, which they proudly had on display. There were also cheetahs, leopards, and my favorite, the jaguars. We actually interrupted 2 jaguars getting their jag on, and one of them wouldn’t stop staring at me for as long as I was standing there. I guess if you interrupt two people while they are getting down to business, you are public enemy #1, at least around these parts.
On my way out, I had a chance to read some despicably-translated materials on the park. It was founded in 1996 after Bengal tigers were put on the endangered species list, and is now home to over 600 large cats, including the rare “white tiger”. I was hoping they were also home to the rare 80's band “Glass Tiger”, but I wasn't so lucky. I felt dejected, once again, because my dream of taking part in a Chinese 80's headbanger's ball were again crushed.
After we left the tiger amusement park, I figured we were just going home. That seemed like enough excitement for one day. But Nooooo, the driver pulled into another parking lot, this time with garbage cans shaped like penguins greeting us at the entrance. The idea with these trash receptacles is, you actually put your waste in the penguin’s mouth! I thought most zoos discouraged feeding the animals, but this one has that all taken care of. Feeding the penguins is okay, as long as they are 4 feet tall and made of fiberglass.
Once inside, we looked at some sturgeon and I could have sworn I smelled fish frying somewhere in this place. It must be like that fish farm I worked at one summer. Every week, they would let us take home a fish to barbecue. At least my coworkers convinced me that I was allowed to. Maybe that’s why I never did get asked to come back the next summer...Somewhere in the hidden back rooms of this place, I just know there is a big ol’ country fish fry going on, and damn if I wasn't just a little bit hungry.
Moving on, we saw seals swimming around in a tank, but the water looked like it was about “kiddie-pool” depth, plus there were all these props in there with them – a dingy, some sort of water wheel, a bunch of buoys, and not to mention, 4 seals. I watched them flop around for a bit, but then we moved on to the next exciting animals – the penguins!
When you think of penguins, that big-time, box office smash “March of the Penguins” probably comes to your mind. This documentary features only 1 type of penguin, the “Emperor Penguin”. They are the largest of the penguin family, and make some pretty cool noises too. At Polarland, there is a whole mish-mash of the penguin brotherhood. I counted at least 3 different species, and there were about 30 penguins in all, hopping around on the fake rocks, all jazzed up with white spray paint so you felt like you were in the arctic. I followed the journey of one guy from the time he plopped his round little body into the water, to his loops and summersaults all over the tank. He looked like he was having tons of fun. Just then a worker entered the penguin habitat to check on something. It was funny, because the penguins must recognize him as a source of food. They all followed him in a big line, single file. It looked like a big game of follow-the-leader, but no fish were given out as prizes. The dude just checked the thermostat and left. Poor little guys didn't even get a sardine for their troubles.
Now, moving on to the next area, I saw out of the corner of my eye, what looked like a big hairy blonde dude swimming laps. That reminds me, my YMCA membership has run out. No, wait, that's a Polar Bear! There were 2 of the beasts, with one doing the backstroke from end to end of the water tank, and another up on the fake rocks, looking like he wanted to kill somebody. He must have been pissed off, because this tank was tiny. I was actually pretty appalled at the size of this tank. When both Polar Bears were in the water together, they could barely move around. Luckily, they learned to swap now & again, with one in the water swimming laps, and the other pacing on the rocks, from end to end. The whole tank couldn't have been more than 15 or 20 feet long, and less than that in depth. My wife asked one of the workers if they have a “Polar Bear Show” like they do with the seals. I saw him laugh. I figure he said something like “Are you crazy? Do you think someone would actually get in there with 2 angry Polar Bears?”
Aside form the Polar Bears, the main attraction at this place was 2 Beluga Whales. Back in Vancouver, the local Aquarium has 3 or 4, I think, with one having just died last summer. Tragic, I know, but what's more tragic is the lack of space these poor animals have at Harbin Polarland. I think they make due with what they have though, because one of the whales was swimming around, playing with a toy and having a great time. The other one was just sitting still, not moving at all, and only coming up for breaths now and again. Either it was napping, or it just doesn't have the energy to move. The Belugas I've seen in captivity are usually pretty blubbery, and almost like big marshmallows. These 2 were slim, grayish things with scars all over them. I don't know their story, but either they got outta line and the trainer gave them a lashing, or they were rescued in a harbour somewhere, after getting caught in a fisherman's net. Either way, I didn't feel like watching them.
My wife on the other hand, wanted to stick around for the Whale Show at 1PM. In the meantime, we checked out the shark tank downstairs. It was odd. All these different tropical fish, turtles and manta rays were swimming around in the same tank as 3 great big bull sharks. Why don't they eat them? Maybe they are all vegetarians like in the Jack Black movie. Maybe they're just full. Yeah, that's probably it. Maybe here used to be several hundred fish in this tank. Now, there's maybe 50. After a while, they probably got sick of fish. How about a nice, juicy tourist. We're sick of Chinese food too. What's that? Italian? Mama mia! I think I'm safe though. Nobody ever asks for Canadian food, do they? What do you feel like tonight, honey? Chinese? Indian? Maybe Thai? Naw, how about some Canadian?!?! Ok, I'll get the timbits, you go pick up a 12-pack of Molson. Now that's a wholesome dinner!
After a bunch of fluttering around, getting the Belugas to wag their tails like dogs and wave to the giddy onlookers, they cranked up the music, and the trainer got in the pool. Now to add to the cheese-factor, they were playing Celine Dion, and the trainer started floating around, pretending to kiss the whale. Awww, isn't that sweet. I kept waiting for the whale to make a wrong turn and crush the pesky human up against the side of the tank, but it never happened. The whole show lasted about 7 minutes, and ended with the wetsuit-clad teenager jumping out of the water off the nose of the whale. My wife really enjoyed it, so I played along, No point ruining her day with my “plight of the animals” schpeal. She agreed that the tanks were too small, but I suppose in China, the rules are more lax when it comes to animal treatment. Heck, back home, you practically have to cross a picket line to go to the circus. I know, I once applied to be a carnie, but I couldn't take the carnage.
On the way out, we stopped off to have one last look at the Polar Bears, and a pair of wolves that were also on display. I read the sign and learned that the wolves were from Canada. Finally! Someone I can relate to. I asked them where the nearest Tim's was, but I don't think they heard me. They were too busy watching over their young. Watching them over there in that other pen. I don't know what it will do to you if you are separated from your parents by a pane of glass, but it had these wolf cubs thinking they were hamsters. There was a little training wheel in the middle of the cub pen, and one of them was running his little legs off. I have expected his water dish to be filled with gator-aid and to see him wearing a little sweat band on his wolf-mullet. But no, like me, these guys like it “au-naural”. No gimmicks, no special equipment. Just me, the glass wall, and my giant hamster wheel. Now excuse me, I have to go eat my food pellets now. Don't step on my tail.
Aside from Polarland, there is also a Tiger Preservation Centre over on the other side of the river. It's sort of a nature reserve dedicated to the preservation and breeding of large cats. My wife missed our family cat I guess, because next thing I knew, we were on a safari through this semi-large grassland full of roaming tigers. For 40 Yuan, you could order a live chicken and watch them feed it to a huge adult tiger right in front of your eyes. We did, and I must say, I've never seen a chicken crap out its intestines before, but once the tiger put a big Chomp on the bird’s stomach, you might say it was scared shitless.
After the mobile tour was over, we were allowed to roam around in the breeding centre. Here they would put a male and a female of the same species (or sometimes not) to hopefully produce an offspring. Actually, there was a bit of playing God going on, because they had lions and tigers together in the same pen, in order to produce Liger cubs, which they proudly had on display. There were also cheetahs, leopards, and my favorite, the jaguars. We actually interrupted 2 jaguars getting their jag on, and one of them wouldn’t stop staring at me for as long as I was standing there. I guess if you interrupt two people while they are getting down to business, you are public enemy #1, at least around these parts.
On my way out, I had a chance to read some despicably-translated materials on the park. It was founded in 1996 after Bengal tigers were put on the endangered species list, and is now home to over 600 large cats, including the rare “white tiger”. I was hoping they were also home to the rare 80's band “Glass Tiger”, but I wasn't so lucky. I felt dejected, once again, because my dream of taking part in a Chinese 80's headbanger's ball were again crushed.
After we left the tiger amusement park, I figured we were just going home. That seemed like enough excitement for one day. But Nooooo, the driver pulled into another parking lot, this time with garbage cans shaped like penguins greeting us at the entrance. The idea with these trash receptacles is, you actually put your waste in the penguin’s mouth! I thought most zoos discouraged feeding the animals, but this one has that all taken care of. Feeding the penguins is okay, as long as they are 4 feet tall and made of fiberglass.
Once inside, we looked at some sturgeon and I could have sworn I smelled fish frying somewhere in this place. It must be like that fish farm I worked at one summer. Every week, they would let us take home a fish to barbecue. At least my coworkers convinced me that I was allowed to. Maybe that’s why I never did get asked to come back the next summer...Somewhere in the hidden back rooms of this place, I just know there is a big ol’ country fish fry going on, and damn if I wasn't just a little bit hungry.
Moving on, we saw seals swimming around in a tank, but the water looked like it was about “kiddie-pool” depth, plus there were all these props in there with them – a dingy, some sort of water wheel, a bunch of buoys, and not to mention, 4 seals. I watched them flop around for a bit, but then we moved on to the next exciting animals – the penguins!
When you think of penguins, that big-time, box office smash “March of the Penguins” probably comes to your mind. This documentary features only 1 type of penguin, the “Emperor Penguin”. They are the largest of the penguin family, and make some pretty cool noises too. At Polarland, there is a whole mish-mash of the penguin brotherhood. I counted at least 3 different species, and there were about 30 penguins in all, hopping around on the fake rocks, all jazzed up with white spray paint so you felt like you were in the arctic. I followed the journey of one guy from the time he plopped his round little body into the water, to his loops and summersaults all over the tank. He looked like he was having tons of fun. Just then a worker entered the penguin habitat to check on something. It was funny, because the penguins must recognize him as a source of food. They all followed him in a big line, single file. It looked like a big game of follow-the-leader, but no fish were given out as prizes. The dude just checked the thermostat and left. Poor little guys didn't even get a sardine for their troubles.
Now, moving on to the next area, I saw out of the corner of my eye, what looked like a big hairy blonde dude swimming laps. That reminds me, my YMCA membership has run out. No, wait, that's a Polar Bear! There were 2 of the beasts, with one doing the backstroke from end to end of the water tank, and another up on the fake rocks, looking like he wanted to kill somebody. He must have been pissed off, because this tank was tiny. I was actually pretty appalled at the size of this tank. When both Polar Bears were in the water together, they could barely move around. Luckily, they learned to swap now & again, with one in the water swimming laps, and the other pacing on the rocks, from end to end. The whole tank couldn't have been more than 15 or 20 feet long, and less than that in depth. My wife asked one of the workers if they have a “Polar Bear Show” like they do with the seals. I saw him laugh. I figure he said something like “Are you crazy? Do you think someone would actually get in there with 2 angry Polar Bears?”
Aside form the Polar Bears, the main attraction at this place was 2 Beluga Whales. Back in Vancouver, the local Aquarium has 3 or 4, I think, with one having just died last summer. Tragic, I know, but what's more tragic is the lack of space these poor animals have at Harbin Polarland. I think they make due with what they have though, because one of the whales was swimming around, playing with a toy and having a great time. The other one was just sitting still, not moving at all, and only coming up for breaths now and again. Either it was napping, or it just doesn't have the energy to move. The Belugas I've seen in captivity are usually pretty blubbery, and almost like big marshmallows. These 2 were slim, grayish things with scars all over them. I don't know their story, but either they got outta line and the trainer gave them a lashing, or they were rescued in a harbour somewhere, after getting caught in a fisherman's net. Either way, I didn't feel like watching them.
My wife on the other hand, wanted to stick around for the Whale Show at 1PM. In the meantime, we checked out the shark tank downstairs. It was odd. All these different tropical fish, turtles and manta rays were swimming around in the same tank as 3 great big bull sharks. Why don't they eat them? Maybe they are all vegetarians like in the Jack Black movie. Maybe they're just full. Yeah, that's probably it. Maybe here used to be several hundred fish in this tank. Now, there's maybe 50. After a while, they probably got sick of fish. How about a nice, juicy tourist. We're sick of Chinese food too. What's that? Italian? Mama mia! I think I'm safe though. Nobody ever asks for Canadian food, do they? What do you feel like tonight, honey? Chinese? Indian? Maybe Thai? Naw, how about some Canadian?!?! Ok, I'll get the timbits, you go pick up a 12-pack of Molson. Now that's a wholesome dinner!
After a bunch of fluttering around, getting the Belugas to wag their tails like dogs and wave to the giddy onlookers, they cranked up the music, and the trainer got in the pool. Now to add to the cheese-factor, they were playing Celine Dion, and the trainer started floating around, pretending to kiss the whale. Awww, isn't that sweet. I kept waiting for the whale to make a wrong turn and crush the pesky human up against the side of the tank, but it never happened. The whole show lasted about 7 minutes, and ended with the wetsuit-clad teenager jumping out of the water off the nose of the whale. My wife really enjoyed it, so I played along, No point ruining her day with my “plight of the animals” schpeal. She agreed that the tanks were too small, but I suppose in China, the rules are more lax when it comes to animal treatment. Heck, back home, you practically have to cross a picket line to go to the circus. I know, I once applied to be a carnie, but I couldn't take the carnage.
On the way out, we stopped off to have one last look at the Polar Bears, and a pair of wolves that were also on display. I read the sign and learned that the wolves were from Canada. Finally! Someone I can relate to. I asked them where the nearest Tim's was, but I don't think they heard me. They were too busy watching over their young. Watching them over there in that other pen. I don't know what it will do to you if you are separated from your parents by a pane of glass, but it had these wolf cubs thinking they were hamsters. There was a little training wheel in the middle of the cub pen, and one of them was running his little legs off. I have expected his water dish to be filled with gator-aid and to see him wearing a little sweat band on his wolf-mullet. But no, like me, these guys like it “au-naural”. No gimmicks, no special equipment. Just me, the glass wall, and my giant hamster wheel. Now excuse me, I have to go eat my food pellets now. Don't step on my tail.
March 11th - Edible Oddities
Here is a list of some of the interesting things I've encountered on the dinner table while in China. I have eaten all of these things, and I live to tell the tale. And no, I haven't eaten any dogs or cats over here. At least I don't think so.
Silk Worms – Yes, they are actual worms. They serve them roasted, baked or boiled, and they idea is to pierce the hard exoskeleton and suck out all of the creamy innards. I've been told that eating 3 silk worms will give you the same amount of protein as eating one egg. Not my favourite food by any stretch, but if I was starving, I could eat them.
Bone Marrow – Inside every hambone lies the thick, salty fluid that drives dogs wild – bone marrow. When a waitress hands you plastic gloves and a drinking straw, you know that you are in for a treat. The idea is to eat away all the meat, and then poke your straw into the canal inside this hambone, then you suck, suck, suck your meal away.
Congee – There's really nothing shocking about rice soup, I just find it a bit strange, and I am not a huge fan of it. To start with, the texture throws my appetite off a bit. Imagine a big bowl of warm, chunky snot is set down in front of you. Wanna bite? Or rather, a slurp? The flavour, or rather lack thereof, is quite bland, and just tastes like watery rice. I don’t see what the big deal is about it, and why it’s such a popular food, especially at breakfast. I'll take my rice solid, please.
Hot Milk – You can't just drink regular milk here in China. It's either sweetened to the point that it's now considered a soft drink, or it's boiled to remove any bacteria. I ordered a milkshake at one restaurant, and they served me a hot glass of purple milk. It was disgusting. I couldn't drink it. This isn't just for cow's milk, but soy milk as well. There's something about hot milk that just turns my stomach.
Hot water – At a restaurant, if you ask for a glass of water, it's not ice water. They bring you a cup of boiling water. I don't know if people generally like the feeling of scalding their lips, or if it's just a precautionary measure to kill any bacteria. Either way, I miss good ol' tap water that you can actually drink.
Pig's Head – There is one day of the year when everyone HAS to eat pig's head. I think it's some sort of ritual, like a dragon once ate a pig's head or something, so it's good luck. Last night I was lucky enough to eat some, and it was pretty darn rubbery. It tasted like pork alright, but a little more weathered. But, I suppose if I had to eat one animal's face, it would be a pig's. Considering all the hot dogs I ate as a kid, I feel like I've already eaten about 15,000 snouts, ears and eyeballs anyway, so what's one more?
Chicken Feet – Another rubbery treat, chicken's feet are considered a delicacy here in China. You can even buy them at corner stores in little plastic wrappers, all ready to be heated up in the microwave “nuke & puke” style. I've eaten a few of these, and aside from their texture, they just taste like chicken. Oh wait, they are chicken.
Duck's tongue – When I ate peking duck, a special piece of meat was given to me on a tiny little plate. It was pretty long, but tasted really nice & it was tender as hell. I've also had goose tongues, but I didn't like them as much. They were cooked in some sort of sauce that I didn't appreciate. I think it was called saliva.
Duck's brain – I always thought salmon was brain food? But I guess, what better brain food than brain itself? Brains are a rare delicacy here in China, and are served in special ceremonial dishes. What are they called again? Oh, right. HEADS!
Chicken necks – When you buy a frozen turkey or chicken at the supermarket, you often find a frozen bag of organs and a crooked neck rammed inside the carcass. When I was a kid, my mom used to cook the neck and feed it to our cats. They loved it! Over here in china, the neck of the chicken is chopped up into little pieces and served just like the rest of the chicken. I didn't even realize it was the neck, until I looked closely and saw that I was sucking on vertebrae.
This is just my Top 10 for now. I know there are far stranger things out there, and I don't dare mention the black market trade of tiger's penises and all that spiritual stuff. I don't think I was given the full tour of Chinese cuisine, just because I have friends over here who care about my health. I have heard stories about white people being served dog food over here as a joke, and then being sick for a week. Hopefully that doesn't happen to me in my last week over here in China. All in all, I have enjoyed the majority of the food, maybe aside from the silk worms and chicken feet. One thing’s for sure though, when I was eating a chicken's foot, nobody got mad at me for biting my nails.
Silk Worms – Yes, they are actual worms. They serve them roasted, baked or boiled, and they idea is to pierce the hard exoskeleton and suck out all of the creamy innards. I've been told that eating 3 silk worms will give you the same amount of protein as eating one egg. Not my favourite food by any stretch, but if I was starving, I could eat them.
Bone Marrow – Inside every hambone lies the thick, salty fluid that drives dogs wild – bone marrow. When a waitress hands you plastic gloves and a drinking straw, you know that you are in for a treat. The idea is to eat away all the meat, and then poke your straw into the canal inside this hambone, then you suck, suck, suck your meal away.
Congee – There's really nothing shocking about rice soup, I just find it a bit strange, and I am not a huge fan of it. To start with, the texture throws my appetite off a bit. Imagine a big bowl of warm, chunky snot is set down in front of you. Wanna bite? Or rather, a slurp? The flavour, or rather lack thereof, is quite bland, and just tastes like watery rice. I don’t see what the big deal is about it, and why it’s such a popular food, especially at breakfast. I'll take my rice solid, please.
Hot Milk – You can't just drink regular milk here in China. It's either sweetened to the point that it's now considered a soft drink, or it's boiled to remove any bacteria. I ordered a milkshake at one restaurant, and they served me a hot glass of purple milk. It was disgusting. I couldn't drink it. This isn't just for cow's milk, but soy milk as well. There's something about hot milk that just turns my stomach.
Hot water – At a restaurant, if you ask for a glass of water, it's not ice water. They bring you a cup of boiling water. I don't know if people generally like the feeling of scalding their lips, or if it's just a precautionary measure to kill any bacteria. Either way, I miss good ol' tap water that you can actually drink.
Pig's Head – There is one day of the year when everyone HAS to eat pig's head. I think it's some sort of ritual, like a dragon once ate a pig's head or something, so it's good luck. Last night I was lucky enough to eat some, and it was pretty darn rubbery. It tasted like pork alright, but a little more weathered. But, I suppose if I had to eat one animal's face, it would be a pig's. Considering all the hot dogs I ate as a kid, I feel like I've already eaten about 15,000 snouts, ears and eyeballs anyway, so what's one more?
Chicken Feet – Another rubbery treat, chicken's feet are considered a delicacy here in China. You can even buy them at corner stores in little plastic wrappers, all ready to be heated up in the microwave “nuke & puke” style. I've eaten a few of these, and aside from their texture, they just taste like chicken. Oh wait, they are chicken.
Duck's tongue – When I ate peking duck, a special piece of meat was given to me on a tiny little plate. It was pretty long, but tasted really nice & it was tender as hell. I've also had goose tongues, but I didn't like them as much. They were cooked in some sort of sauce that I didn't appreciate. I think it was called saliva.
Duck's brain – I always thought salmon was brain food? But I guess, what better brain food than brain itself? Brains are a rare delicacy here in China, and are served in special ceremonial dishes. What are they called again? Oh, right. HEADS!
Chicken necks – When you buy a frozen turkey or chicken at the supermarket, you often find a frozen bag of organs and a crooked neck rammed inside the carcass. When I was a kid, my mom used to cook the neck and feed it to our cats. They loved it! Over here in china, the neck of the chicken is chopped up into little pieces and served just like the rest of the chicken. I didn't even realize it was the neck, until I looked closely and saw that I was sucking on vertebrae.
This is just my Top 10 for now. I know there are far stranger things out there, and I don't dare mention the black market trade of tiger's penises and all that spiritual stuff. I don't think I was given the full tour of Chinese cuisine, just because I have friends over here who care about my health. I have heard stories about white people being served dog food over here as a joke, and then being sick for a week. Hopefully that doesn't happen to me in my last week over here in China. All in all, I have enjoyed the majority of the food, maybe aside from the silk worms and chicken feet. One thing’s for sure though, when I was eating a chicken's foot, nobody got mad at me for biting my nails.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
March 10th - A Marrow Escape
It was a fairly uneventful day today. Being Sunday, everybody was in rest-mode, including yours truly, after a long night of clubbing China-style. We mostly lazed around the bedroom today, and I started the packing process. Believe it or not, this is our last week in China. 7 days from now I'll be on my way home, and then I don't know what I'll write about. Maybe I can continue my story of a Canadian boy living in um, Canada?
Anyways, the highlight of my day was when we went out for dinner with Mother-In-law's friends. You might remember the food pushers from an earlier entry. If not, I'll refresh your memory. It's this older couple who think everybody is too skinny, and needs to put on some weight to stay healthy. They use every trick in the book, from putting food on your plate for you, to masticating your steak and regurgitating it back into your mouth like a hawk feeds its young. I'm grateful for them saving me energy like that, but when I've had enough, I've had enough.
There was one item on the menu tonight that deserves at least a paragraph, maybe even a run-on sentence or two. The first dish the waitress brought out was a stack of giant hambones. Alright! Now we get to play dinosaurs! Pass me a brontosaurus bone, will ya? They even give you a pair of plastic gloves like those Subway Sandwich artists wear so you don't get any meat juice on your hands. And what's this? A straw? I didn't order a milkshake, did I?
It turns out that the straw was for a different type of beverage – a meatshake. After I was done picking all the meat off my leg joints, the idea is to stick your straw into the carpal tunnel of the hambone and suck out all the marrow. I imagined a bar for dogs – this would be the most popular drink. “Ruff, gimme a cartilage cocktail. Ruff ruff.” I felt like I was drinking gravy through a straw. Now, I usually like to enjoy a tall glass of gravy at dinner, but I prefer to drink it right out of the gravy boat, not like this.
After my 2nd femur, I decided to move on to another dish. My pusher was watching me closely. He spun the giant turntable around every time a new dish was brought out (there were about 15 dishes altogether) so that the newest dish was positioned right in front of me. Now I couldn't stay out of the line of fire. I ate and ate till half past eight, then I had to say nein. I couldn't eat another bite, honestly. To a food pusher, this means that you can have at least 2 more helpings. I was offered some sort of pastry, and I took it, thinking it was dessert. When I bit into it, the crust was filled with meat and vegetables. Dammit! I thought this was desert. Those crafty food veterans tricked me into eating another course! I must admit though, they are skilled at what they do.
After politely refusing yet another offer to put food on my plate, Mr Pusher came up with the theory that I eat too fast, and therefore I filled up too early. He began telling my Mother-In-Law that I ought to eat more slowly, and then I can eat all night. Well, if I didn't have someone trying to ram food down my throat all night, I could have eaten nice and slowly and actually enjoyed my meal! In the end, I felt pretty full, but not disgustingly stuffed, like the last time I dined with the Food Nazis. That is, if the Nazis just went around making people overeat instead of sending them to gas chambers and concentration camps. Same difference.
Anyways, the highlight of my day was when we went out for dinner with Mother-In-law's friends. You might remember the food pushers from an earlier entry. If not, I'll refresh your memory. It's this older couple who think everybody is too skinny, and needs to put on some weight to stay healthy. They use every trick in the book, from putting food on your plate for you, to masticating your steak and regurgitating it back into your mouth like a hawk feeds its young. I'm grateful for them saving me energy like that, but when I've had enough, I've had enough.
There was one item on the menu tonight that deserves at least a paragraph, maybe even a run-on sentence or two. The first dish the waitress brought out was a stack of giant hambones. Alright! Now we get to play dinosaurs! Pass me a brontosaurus bone, will ya? They even give you a pair of plastic gloves like those Subway Sandwich artists wear so you don't get any meat juice on your hands. And what's this? A straw? I didn't order a milkshake, did I?
It turns out that the straw was for a different type of beverage – a meatshake. After I was done picking all the meat off my leg joints, the idea is to stick your straw into the carpal tunnel of the hambone and suck out all the marrow. I imagined a bar for dogs – this would be the most popular drink. “Ruff, gimme a cartilage cocktail. Ruff ruff.” I felt like I was drinking gravy through a straw. Now, I usually like to enjoy a tall glass of gravy at dinner, but I prefer to drink it right out of the gravy boat, not like this.
After my 2nd femur, I decided to move on to another dish. My pusher was watching me closely. He spun the giant turntable around every time a new dish was brought out (there were about 15 dishes altogether) so that the newest dish was positioned right in front of me. Now I couldn't stay out of the line of fire. I ate and ate till half past eight, then I had to say nein. I couldn't eat another bite, honestly. To a food pusher, this means that you can have at least 2 more helpings. I was offered some sort of pastry, and I took it, thinking it was dessert. When I bit into it, the crust was filled with meat and vegetables. Dammit! I thought this was desert. Those crafty food veterans tricked me into eating another course! I must admit though, they are skilled at what they do.
After politely refusing yet another offer to put food on my plate, Mr Pusher came up with the theory that I eat too fast, and therefore I filled up too early. He began telling my Mother-In-Law that I ought to eat more slowly, and then I can eat all night. Well, if I didn't have someone trying to ram food down my throat all night, I could have eaten nice and slowly and actually enjoyed my meal! In the end, I felt pretty full, but not disgustingly stuffed, like the last time I dined with the Food Nazis. That is, if the Nazis just went around making people overeat instead of sending them to gas chambers and concentration camps. Same difference.
March 9th - Chinese Dance Club
Most people who know me are aware that I don't usually go in for dance clubs. Last night, Mother-In-Law's driver wanted to take my wife and I out for dinner and drinks, followed by a visit to this place called Baby Face. We went to a familiar place for dinner – I'd been there before, when we came back from Sanya. Now listen to this: After we had all finished eating, everyone was sitting around chattin, and since I can't take part in that business, I was sittin around drinkin. I must have had 6 or 7 quarts of beer, when our waiter came in with another guy who worked in the restaurant. He pointed at me and made a gesture with his hands, like he was measuring something. Everyone laughed and started looking at me.
I asked my wife what was happening, and she told me that the waiter remembered me from the last time because I'm such a boozebag. He showed everyone how much hooch I drank at dinner last time. I'm not sure if I've described the moonshine they drink over here, but imagine you've just filled your glass with turpentine, lit it on fire, and downed the whole glass. It gives you a nice, excrutiating feeling down in your gutiwuts.
Now that I was primed, well-oiled, and a little bit buzzed, we got in a taxi and headed out for a night on the town. Our gang was made up of: My wife, her niece, the company driver, his wife, their 9-year-old daughter, and myself. Yes, that's right, the dude brought his little girl along to the club. Now, there are 2 views on this situation. The first: “I wish my parents were that cool!” And the 2nd: “Are you sure it's okay? What will that do to the kid?” Apparently it's more common than you would think, because the club had lots of kid-friendly items on their menu – ice cream sundaes, fresh fruit, popcorn, candy, and lots of juice. Looking around though, I see lots of underage girls, maybe in the 15-18 age bracket, who these items would probably appeal to as well. Nice business strategy! Our little partier just sat there with her mom, munching away on ice cream and goodies, looking content as could be.
Now for the adult refreshments. They have a unique way of getting you drunk at this place. To start with, you choose a 40 ouncer of any booze you want (we chose the finest cognac – or rather the driver chose it.), then the waitress comes by and pours a few shots into a large pitcher of ice. She then fills it up with ice tea, and slob's your uncle. I couldn't even taste the booze in it, but I was assured that it was indeed “strong tea” by the others. I had a few dozen glasses of the stuff, and then I started to feel tealightful.
Now for the music – at first it was just your average club music. It's funny, the last time I went to a club was probably a couple of years ago, and the music hasn't changed, aside from substituting the old Justin Timberlake and Black Eyed Peas songs with the new ones. There was some hip hop, r&b, and you know, some other music that you'd hear on the radio. They were playing it pretty safe. My wife told me that there was going to be some sort of “show” later. I didn't know what to expect, but I saw 2 stripper poles at either end of the club. The dancers came out, assumed their “positions” at the poles, but they didn't strip. They just danced sort of nonchalantly, like they didn't really want to be there. I got the idea that they aren't paid very well to do this. Nobody was waving singles at them, so they weren't showing the goods. Fair trade. No money, no honey.
We stayed for a while longer, and eventually my wife and her niece convinced me to dance. Actually, they had some help from a Mr Cognac. I think he and I make a pretty good dance partner. I told my wife that, in order to help her out, I would make a fool of myself on the dance floor so people wouldn't look at her and judge her moves. She said she was feeling a bit rusty, so I decided to create the spectacle. I busted out several of my old classics – the lawnmower, the grocery shopper, biker daddy, the smoker, and when the strobe light kicked in, I busted out the “oops, my shoe is untied.”
And now, I would like to share with you my new move. I'm not sure if I invented this, but if nobody else lays claim to it, the blog will be proof that I am the inventor of “The Flower Petal”. Yes, that's right, the flower petal. You can act it out in a number of ways, but I usually like to start by a) digging a hole; b) planting a seed; c) watering it; d)waiting patiently, looking at watch, etc and then, the piece de resistance; e) crouch down really low and gradually get taller and taller, ending with my hands opened underneath my face, revealing the flower that is me. I'm not sure if I can draw a picture for you, ut my hands would look something like this:
@
V
Imagine my face is the At symbol and the V would be my two hands. Other variations of this move could include the ice cream cone (get someone to lick the top of your head), the Venus flytrap (bite people, or just chomp at them if you are vegetarian), and the Home Alone Kid (everybody knows this one). It's okay, I will allow you to use this move if you want. I'm not greedy when it comes to boogeying down. I say, if you have a boogie, share it with a friend. My instructional DVDs will be available soon, but only in fine stores that sell pirated videos including non-licensed music and copyrighted materials. This means, it will only be released in China, and possibly the Phillipines, if I can find a mule to sneak them into the country for me.
So my friends, if you have a chance to visit a club when you are in China, I can recommend a good one right here in Harbin. It's called baby face, and the manager is a pretty cool guy. He came up, shook my hand, gave me his card and yelled something into my ear. I'm not sure what he said, but I heard every word. It's that kind of dedication that brings customers back time and time again. Heck, I know where I'll be going next time I want to bust out an ice cream cone, Venus Flytrap or Flower Petal. Boogey on!
I asked my wife what was happening, and she told me that the waiter remembered me from the last time because I'm such a boozebag. He showed everyone how much hooch I drank at dinner last time. I'm not sure if I've described the moonshine they drink over here, but imagine you've just filled your glass with turpentine, lit it on fire, and downed the whole glass. It gives you a nice, excrutiating feeling down in your gutiwuts.
Now that I was primed, well-oiled, and a little bit buzzed, we got in a taxi and headed out for a night on the town. Our gang was made up of: My wife, her niece, the company driver, his wife, their 9-year-old daughter, and myself. Yes, that's right, the dude brought his little girl along to the club. Now, there are 2 views on this situation. The first: “I wish my parents were that cool!” And the 2nd: “Are you sure it's okay? What will that do to the kid?” Apparently it's more common than you would think, because the club had lots of kid-friendly items on their menu – ice cream sundaes, fresh fruit, popcorn, candy, and lots of juice. Looking around though, I see lots of underage girls, maybe in the 15-18 age bracket, who these items would probably appeal to as well. Nice business strategy! Our little partier just sat there with her mom, munching away on ice cream and goodies, looking content as could be.
Now for the adult refreshments. They have a unique way of getting you drunk at this place. To start with, you choose a 40 ouncer of any booze you want (we chose the finest cognac – or rather the driver chose it.), then the waitress comes by and pours a few shots into a large pitcher of ice. She then fills it up with ice tea, and slob's your uncle. I couldn't even taste the booze in it, but I was assured that it was indeed “strong tea” by the others. I had a few dozen glasses of the stuff, and then I started to feel tealightful.
Now for the music – at first it was just your average club music. It's funny, the last time I went to a club was probably a couple of years ago, and the music hasn't changed, aside from substituting the old Justin Timberlake and Black Eyed Peas songs with the new ones. There was some hip hop, r&b, and you know, some other music that you'd hear on the radio. They were playing it pretty safe. My wife told me that there was going to be some sort of “show” later. I didn't know what to expect, but I saw 2 stripper poles at either end of the club. The dancers came out, assumed their “positions” at the poles, but they didn't strip. They just danced sort of nonchalantly, like they didn't really want to be there. I got the idea that they aren't paid very well to do this. Nobody was waving singles at them, so they weren't showing the goods. Fair trade. No money, no honey.
We stayed for a while longer, and eventually my wife and her niece convinced me to dance. Actually, they had some help from a Mr Cognac. I think he and I make a pretty good dance partner. I told my wife that, in order to help her out, I would make a fool of myself on the dance floor so people wouldn't look at her and judge her moves. She said she was feeling a bit rusty, so I decided to create the spectacle. I busted out several of my old classics – the lawnmower, the grocery shopper, biker daddy, the smoker, and when the strobe light kicked in, I busted out the “oops, my shoe is untied.”
And now, I would like to share with you my new move. I'm not sure if I invented this, but if nobody else lays claim to it, the blog will be proof that I am the inventor of “The Flower Petal”. Yes, that's right, the flower petal. You can act it out in a number of ways, but I usually like to start by a) digging a hole; b) planting a seed; c) watering it; d)waiting patiently, looking at watch, etc and then, the piece de resistance; e) crouch down really low and gradually get taller and taller, ending with my hands opened underneath my face, revealing the flower that is me. I'm not sure if I can draw a picture for you, ut my hands would look something like this:
@
V
Imagine my face is the At symbol and the V would be my two hands. Other variations of this move could include the ice cream cone (get someone to lick the top of your head), the Venus flytrap (bite people, or just chomp at them if you are vegetarian), and the Home Alone Kid (everybody knows this one). It's okay, I will allow you to use this move if you want. I'm not greedy when it comes to boogeying down. I say, if you have a boogie, share it with a friend. My instructional DVDs will be available soon, but only in fine stores that sell pirated videos including non-licensed music and copyrighted materials. This means, it will only be released in China, and possibly the Phillipines, if I can find a mule to sneak them into the country for me.
So my friends, if you have a chance to visit a club when you are in China, I can recommend a good one right here in Harbin. It's called baby face, and the manager is a pretty cool guy. He came up, shook my hand, gave me his card and yelled something into my ear. I'm not sure what he said, but I heard every word. It's that kind of dedication that brings customers back time and time again. Heck, I know where I'll be going next time I want to bust out an ice cream cone, Venus Flytrap or Flower Petal. Boogey on!
Did You Read The Headlines?
I just found out that I was being spied on recently at a restaurant. My Mother-In-Law, ever the fan of the occult, hired a psychic to come along and secretly scope me out for flaws, etc. I don't know if the whole dinner was staged for that reason alone, as there were other friends invited too, but I of course, didn't know what was going on; everyone spoke in Mandarin as usual, so I just sat there and ate silently.
My wife told me what was going on the next day. She asked if I wanted to hear about it, and I said no, as I thought it was a crock of shit. I would however, like to know how much this dude got paid for doing this, and if it's a lot, I would like to get in on this scam. They could call me “The Paleface Liar” or something, and I will judge your cosmic energy by how many times you get up to go to the bathroom during dinner, and how many times you chew before swallowing to calculate your zodiac number in the cosmos.
My wife decided to tell me some stuff anyway, but all casual-like. She said, yeah he said you must be healthy because you can drink a lot and it doesn’t phase you. I laughed. Either that or alcoholism is genetic. Did you tell him about my Irish roots? That should be considered. I probably drink a lot less than your average pig farmer. Oh, and that wrinkle on your forehead, it means you are independent. What? That's enough, that's enough. “No, no,” she says. My wife was getting a kick out of this. He was looking at the way you hold your chopsticks too. He says the higher you hold your sticks, the further you will go in life.
Apparently, he only found good things, or at least that's all my wife was telling me about. I must have a good cosmic balance in my zodiac bank account. Mother-In-Law went off to his den to have another reading for herself just now. I don't know if they will throw tea into the air or roll the cat's bones, but hopefully he can tell her which lottery numbers to pick, and who is going to win the Stanley Cup this year. Just think, if you had this guy around all the time, you'd never have to leave the house! Or at the very least, you wouldn't want to. It would be too hilarious. Now excuse me, I have to go iron out the wrinkle on my forehead, just to throw him off.
My wife told me what was going on the next day. She asked if I wanted to hear about it, and I said no, as I thought it was a crock of shit. I would however, like to know how much this dude got paid for doing this, and if it's a lot, I would like to get in on this scam. They could call me “The Paleface Liar” or something, and I will judge your cosmic energy by how many times you get up to go to the bathroom during dinner, and how many times you chew before swallowing to calculate your zodiac number in the cosmos.
My wife decided to tell me some stuff anyway, but all casual-like. She said, yeah he said you must be healthy because you can drink a lot and it doesn’t phase you. I laughed. Either that or alcoholism is genetic. Did you tell him about my Irish roots? That should be considered. I probably drink a lot less than your average pig farmer. Oh, and that wrinkle on your forehead, it means you are independent. What? That's enough, that's enough. “No, no,” she says. My wife was getting a kick out of this. He was looking at the way you hold your chopsticks too. He says the higher you hold your sticks, the further you will go in life.
Apparently, he only found good things, or at least that's all my wife was telling me about. I must have a good cosmic balance in my zodiac bank account. Mother-In-Law went off to his den to have another reading for herself just now. I don't know if they will throw tea into the air or roll the cat's bones, but hopefully he can tell her which lottery numbers to pick, and who is going to win the Stanley Cup this year. Just think, if you had this guy around all the time, you'd never have to leave the house! Or at the very least, you wouldn't want to. It would be too hilarious. Now excuse me, I have to go iron out the wrinkle on my forehead, just to throw him off.
March 8th - Morning Market Massacre
Last night my wife said that she would like to take me to the outdoor morning market, a sort of swap meet/farmers market where you can buy everything from artichokes to zucchinis all under one, well, sky. Sounded like fun to me! I love fresh fruit, especially when it's dirt cheap (It's usually the cheapest when there's still dirt on it. That's how you can tell if it's fresh too). So, we woke up extra early so we'd get there before the pickins got too slim, you see.
Walking to the market, there were a bunch of peripheral merchants, not necessarily part of the whole function, but taking advantage of all the foot traffic. I imagine you have to pay in order to get a stand at the market, but if you are say, 25 feet outside the gates, it's all gravy. One guy was standing there yelling “Everything you see, 2 for 1 Yuan!” On the ground all around him were little piles of nail clippers, rulers, rolls of tape, crazy glue (a glue-sniffer's paradise) and other odds and ends you usually find in your junk drawer back home. We stopped and the maid bought a few spools of thread. You never know, I might accidentally tear a hole in my batman outfit one night. I don't want to be out there fighting crime AND hypothermia.
We finally entered the market. We headed down the meat isle first. Here, you could buy every cut of meat imaginable, and some you'd probably care not to imagine. They had chicken legs, chicken feet, breasts, backs, necks, beaks, bones, and skin. If chickens had fins, they'd be there. I just covered my beak and kept on cluckin'. None of that today, thank you. My wife sampled a couple of cherry tomatoes. Oh yeah, they'll let you sample just about anything in this place. Except the chicken necks. There was this incident a while back, and they don't want to stick their neck out any further on this one. Bada-bing!
We picked up some hand-made noodles and a block of wiggly-jiggly tofu. I've never been a huge fan of tofu, or “douf” as it's called here, but if it's cooked just right, aka deep-fried, I'll eat it. Actually, you could probably deep-fry turds and I'd like it. I love anything battered and dipped in hot oil. Which conveniently, is the next item we bought!
My wife wanted to buy her childhood morning market treat, but apparently they stopped selling it. I suggested health code violations, but she said the weather was too cold. We settled instead on a deep-fried honey cake. I figured it would taste great, you know, being deep fried and all, but boy was I wrong. It was quite flavorless, and the batter kind of stuck to the roof of your mouth in gritty cream-form. Yuck! After one bite I was done with that little catastrophe.
I saw another catastrophe today, but it was in human form. There was a beggar sitting on a little homemade cart in the middle of the crowded market. He had a little plastic bucket on the ground beside him, into which passers-by were dropping coins. Now, back home I walk past beggars all the time. You can never tell if they actually need the money, whether or not they'll feed themselves with it, or if it's going up their nose or into a hypodermic. This time, I was sure it was going to a good cause.
To start with, the man had no shoes on. That was sad. But when I got up closer, I saw that he had no toes on either foot! That was a bloody tragedy! When I looked at his hands, I saw that he was missing 2-3 fingers on each hand. He had no teeth, and I could see scars on his emaciated face, either from some sort of cruel torture, or maybe they were self-inflicted, I don't know. We dropped some coins into his bucket and headed off. I wonder if he got enough to buy himself something to eat today.
I usually try to wind up these little stories with some humorous quip for you, the reader's enjoyment, but this time, for the sake of that poor, toeless bugger, I think I'll end it on the serious side today. Be thankful for what you have, and try not to act in prejudice when it comes to those with an outstretched hand. Take a closer look, and it could be a face you recognize, or maybe your own reflection some day. If you're always in too big a hurry to lend a hand, who's to say anybody will drop you a coin when you need it? There, that's my preaching for the month.
Walking to the market, there were a bunch of peripheral merchants, not necessarily part of the whole function, but taking advantage of all the foot traffic. I imagine you have to pay in order to get a stand at the market, but if you are say, 25 feet outside the gates, it's all gravy. One guy was standing there yelling “Everything you see, 2 for 1 Yuan!” On the ground all around him were little piles of nail clippers, rulers, rolls of tape, crazy glue (a glue-sniffer's paradise) and other odds and ends you usually find in your junk drawer back home. We stopped and the maid bought a few spools of thread. You never know, I might accidentally tear a hole in my batman outfit one night. I don't want to be out there fighting crime AND hypothermia.
We finally entered the market. We headed down the meat isle first. Here, you could buy every cut of meat imaginable, and some you'd probably care not to imagine. They had chicken legs, chicken feet, breasts, backs, necks, beaks, bones, and skin. If chickens had fins, they'd be there. I just covered my beak and kept on cluckin'. None of that today, thank you. My wife sampled a couple of cherry tomatoes. Oh yeah, they'll let you sample just about anything in this place. Except the chicken necks. There was this incident a while back, and they don't want to stick their neck out any further on this one. Bada-bing!
We picked up some hand-made noodles and a block of wiggly-jiggly tofu. I've never been a huge fan of tofu, or “douf” as it's called here, but if it's cooked just right, aka deep-fried, I'll eat it. Actually, you could probably deep-fry turds and I'd like it. I love anything battered and dipped in hot oil. Which conveniently, is the next item we bought!
My wife wanted to buy her childhood morning market treat, but apparently they stopped selling it. I suggested health code violations, but she said the weather was too cold. We settled instead on a deep-fried honey cake. I figured it would taste great, you know, being deep fried and all, but boy was I wrong. It was quite flavorless, and the batter kind of stuck to the roof of your mouth in gritty cream-form. Yuck! After one bite I was done with that little catastrophe.
I saw another catastrophe today, but it was in human form. There was a beggar sitting on a little homemade cart in the middle of the crowded market. He had a little plastic bucket on the ground beside him, into which passers-by were dropping coins. Now, back home I walk past beggars all the time. You can never tell if they actually need the money, whether or not they'll feed themselves with it, or if it's going up their nose or into a hypodermic. This time, I was sure it was going to a good cause.
To start with, the man had no shoes on. That was sad. But when I got up closer, I saw that he had no toes on either foot! That was a bloody tragedy! When I looked at his hands, I saw that he was missing 2-3 fingers on each hand. He had no teeth, and I could see scars on his emaciated face, either from some sort of cruel torture, or maybe they were self-inflicted, I don't know. We dropped some coins into his bucket and headed off. I wonder if he got enough to buy himself something to eat today.
I usually try to wind up these little stories with some humorous quip for you, the reader's enjoyment, but this time, for the sake of that poor, toeless bugger, I think I'll end it on the serious side today. Be thankful for what you have, and try not to act in prejudice when it comes to those with an outstretched hand. Take a closer look, and it could be a face you recognize, or maybe your own reflection some day. If you're always in too big a hurry to lend a hand, who's to say anybody will drop you a coin when you need it? There, that's my preaching for the month.
Friday, March 7, 2008
March 7th - Ping Pawn
Today was the day which I awaited in anticipation for quite some time now. Today was the highly-publicized table tennis match pitting this lowly Canadian wordsmith against the wily veteran Father-In-Law. I had better bring my A-game too. I’d been talking some big talk, now let’s see if I could walk a big walk. I made sure to eat a good meal the night before, get plenty of rest, and skip breakfast the day of the big match. It's like Johnny Cash used to say to his band The Tennessee Three, “Always play hungry”.
Well, maybe I should have eaten my oatmeal with a straw this morning because I was sure sucking it up now. This man was clearly well-practiced. My wife told me that he plays every day. In fact, his dining room table converts to a ping pong table if you just put the leaf in. I was no match for his ping pong prowess. I hung my head in defeat today, for the first time in a while. I don't feel too bad though. He was obviously going easy on me, and I actually kept up for a little while. That is until he started unleashing his big smash on me, or a stupifying topspin shot that left me scratching my head with ping pong perplexity. He could actually make the ball bounce in a totally different direction than where it came from.
After my humiliation, my wife and I started changing up, rallying with Dad until he got bored and tried letting us win. A few older, retired guys were watching us, and decided that my Father-In-Law was easy bait, and swooped in for a challenge. What they didn't know, was that he was once district champion in these parts, and was only putting on a show with us so he could shark these guys and send them off with their paddles between their legs. (I could have used balls there, but that would be downright perverted. I refuse to tarnish the good name of table tennis for the sake of a testicle joke, thank you very much.)
Father-In-Law destroyed the first challenger handily, beating him in straight games. They play games to 11, in a best-of-five series. Father-In-Law won the first game 11-3, then 11-6. Next! I had been watching his next challenger play for a while. His unique serving technique caught my eye over on the other side of the room. This dude might actually make Dad break a sweat! I think Father-In-Law read my mind, because he stripped down to his undershirt before taking on challenger #2. I was right about his serving technique. He was throwing down the spin-shots too. Father-In-Law was up to the test though, dishing out unstoppable power-shots one after another. The final tally had Father-In-Law up 2 games to 1, and thus he was crowned grand champion of the Friday morning retirees and people with nothing better do with their time. Heck, I was there, and I'm not retired. Although I may just have to retire from the world of ping pong while I still have my pride. It's the classy thing to do.
I told Father-In-Law that I will practice hard before our next meeting so that I can at least give him some competition. He laughed. It’s gonna take a lot of practice for me to get up to his level. Around 40 or 50 years I’d say. But hey, I've got nothing better to do. My dining room table is just begging to be turned into a playing field of some sort. It's either that or a giant Wheel of Fortune, and I don't think we could get Vanna White at such short notice. I don't know of any household-name Ping Pongers, so that being said, one of them should be free to drop by and teach yours truly how to take on Yoda, and become the King of the Ping.
Well, maybe I should have eaten my oatmeal with a straw this morning because I was sure sucking it up now. This man was clearly well-practiced. My wife told me that he plays every day. In fact, his dining room table converts to a ping pong table if you just put the leaf in. I was no match for his ping pong prowess. I hung my head in defeat today, for the first time in a while. I don't feel too bad though. He was obviously going easy on me, and I actually kept up for a little while. That is until he started unleashing his big smash on me, or a stupifying topspin shot that left me scratching my head with ping pong perplexity. He could actually make the ball bounce in a totally different direction than where it came from.
After my humiliation, my wife and I started changing up, rallying with Dad until he got bored and tried letting us win. A few older, retired guys were watching us, and decided that my Father-In-Law was easy bait, and swooped in for a challenge. What they didn't know, was that he was once district champion in these parts, and was only putting on a show with us so he could shark these guys and send them off with their paddles between their legs. (I could have used balls there, but that would be downright perverted. I refuse to tarnish the good name of table tennis for the sake of a testicle joke, thank you very much.)
Father-In-Law destroyed the first challenger handily, beating him in straight games. They play games to 11, in a best-of-five series. Father-In-Law won the first game 11-3, then 11-6. Next! I had been watching his next challenger play for a while. His unique serving technique caught my eye over on the other side of the room. This dude might actually make Dad break a sweat! I think Father-In-Law read my mind, because he stripped down to his undershirt before taking on challenger #2. I was right about his serving technique. He was throwing down the spin-shots too. Father-In-Law was up to the test though, dishing out unstoppable power-shots one after another. The final tally had Father-In-Law up 2 games to 1, and thus he was crowned grand champion of the Friday morning retirees and people with nothing better do with their time. Heck, I was there, and I'm not retired. Although I may just have to retire from the world of ping pong while I still have my pride. It's the classy thing to do.
I told Father-In-Law that I will practice hard before our next meeting so that I can at least give him some competition. He laughed. It’s gonna take a lot of practice for me to get up to his level. Around 40 or 50 years I’d say. But hey, I've got nothing better to do. My dining room table is just begging to be turned into a playing field of some sort. It's either that or a giant Wheel of Fortune, and I don't think we could get Vanna White at such short notice. I don't know of any household-name Ping Pongers, so that being said, one of them should be free to drop by and teach yours truly how to take on Yoda, and become the King of the Ping.
What You See is What You Gut
Have you ever walked into a restaurant and been greeted by lines of aquariums holding every fish species known to mankind? If you’ve never left Canada, of course you haven’t! Here in China, not only can you order fresh seafood, you can also hand-pick which sturgeon you’d like them to fry up for you. If you brought the kids along, they can even pet the fish before it’s gutted and cleaned and served up sechuan-style with a side of chow mein. It’s kind of like going to the touch pools at Marine Land with a cafeteria tray. Anything you think might look appetizing, you just net it, and forget it.
Sometimes, they’ll even bring the live fish up to your table in a bucket, just to make sure everything is satisfactory before they kill it. If you change your mind after the fish has been beheaded, you have to pay for it anyway. But, you get a nice bag of raw fish to take home with you as a reminder never to come to that restaurant again. In Sanya, down in Southern China, we changed our minds about one restaurant, after they led us to our unheated dining hut. It was after sunset, and it got mighty cold inside that windy little hut. I must say, it was definitely well-ventilated. Still, we changed our minds too late, after they had already “prepared” their specialty for us. Needless to say, there was a big argument, and we left with a small plastic bag filled with raw fish.
I know, I know, you can see the lobsters swimming around at restaurants back home, and point at the poor unlucky bastard you want to scarf down with melted butter, but I think my experience is a little different. To start with, it smells pretty darn bad in this “open ocean” restaurant. I’m glad our able was up on the 4th floor, away from all the fishy goodness. Some of the fish were more floating than swimming inside those putrid tanks, and their joyous scent was wafting throughout the main dining room. As a bonus though, you can also order marine fungus, which conveniently grows on the inside of all the aquariums, and probably feeds off the fish. Hell, you might as well eat the fungus, it got to the fish while it was still alive - well before you did!
A lot of these aquatic delicacies are new to me. I’ve never eaten a puffer fish or a skate. We usually just look at them in aquariums while sitting in the waiting room at the dentist’s. Now, they’re on the freakin’ menu! I half expected to see a dolphin sitting in one of those little fishbowls. Ahh yes, dolphin meat is very low in fat. He spends all day jumping through flaming hula hoops, so he keeps himself pretty lean. Give it a try! I think their slogan would have to be “this dolphin’s for you!” Has a catchy little ring to it, eh?
So, if you ever walk into a restaurant and see a wall of aquariums holding everything from sea cucumbers to sea horses, please ask to speak to the manager, or Captain as it may be. I’m sure he can recommend the catch of the day, or at least of this month. I question the freshness of seafood when I see it floating in a glass coffin in front of me. Sure, you technically just killed it, but it was barely alive to begin with. I don’t know whether to eat it, or attempt CPR! Poor things have probably never even seen the sea. How then, can they be classified as seafood? Maybe they should just call it “Eating your pets” because I think I taught that trout a trick tonight. That’s right, I taught him to play dead. Wait, I think he already knew that one. Roll over? Roll over and die, maybe. Sit? Sorry, this food doesn’t sit well. You’re outta luck, mister. If you want live animals, try the pet store.
Sometimes, they’ll even bring the live fish up to your table in a bucket, just to make sure everything is satisfactory before they kill it. If you change your mind after the fish has been beheaded, you have to pay for it anyway. But, you get a nice bag of raw fish to take home with you as a reminder never to come to that restaurant again. In Sanya, down in Southern China, we changed our minds about one restaurant, after they led us to our unheated dining hut. It was after sunset, and it got mighty cold inside that windy little hut. I must say, it was definitely well-ventilated. Still, we changed our minds too late, after they had already “prepared” their specialty for us. Needless to say, there was a big argument, and we left with a small plastic bag filled with raw fish.
I know, I know, you can see the lobsters swimming around at restaurants back home, and point at the poor unlucky bastard you want to scarf down with melted butter, but I think my experience is a little different. To start with, it smells pretty darn bad in this “open ocean” restaurant. I’m glad our able was up on the 4th floor, away from all the fishy goodness. Some of the fish were more floating than swimming inside those putrid tanks, and their joyous scent was wafting throughout the main dining room. As a bonus though, you can also order marine fungus, which conveniently grows on the inside of all the aquariums, and probably feeds off the fish. Hell, you might as well eat the fungus, it got to the fish while it was still alive - well before you did!
A lot of these aquatic delicacies are new to me. I’ve never eaten a puffer fish or a skate. We usually just look at them in aquariums while sitting in the waiting room at the dentist’s. Now, they’re on the freakin’ menu! I half expected to see a dolphin sitting in one of those little fishbowls. Ahh yes, dolphin meat is very low in fat. He spends all day jumping through flaming hula hoops, so he keeps himself pretty lean. Give it a try! I think their slogan would have to be “this dolphin’s for you!” Has a catchy little ring to it, eh?
So, if you ever walk into a restaurant and see a wall of aquariums holding everything from sea cucumbers to sea horses, please ask to speak to the manager, or Captain as it may be. I’m sure he can recommend the catch of the day, or at least of this month. I question the freshness of seafood when I see it floating in a glass coffin in front of me. Sure, you technically just killed it, but it was barely alive to begin with. I don’t know whether to eat it, or attempt CPR! Poor things have probably never even seen the sea. How then, can they be classified as seafood? Maybe they should just call it “Eating your pets” because I think I taught that trout a trick tonight. That’s right, I taught him to play dead. Wait, I think he already knew that one. Roll over? Roll over and die, maybe. Sit? Sorry, this food doesn’t sit well. You’re outta luck, mister. If you want live animals, try the pet store.
March 6th - DVD = Damaged Video Disk
I told you a while back about our little trip to the shady DVD store. You know, the one with the DVD that got stuck in my wife’s laptop. Well, they have struck again. This time, I settled down to watch “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford” – you know, with Brad Pitts and Ben Afflek’s little brother. I heard it was a good movie, so I picked it up for like 80 cents or whatever it cost at said fine retail establishment. In order to avoid getting stuck with a bunch of non-working dvds, we brought the laptop along to the store, and tried each one out before we made our purchases. Obviously we couldn’t sit there and watch the whole movie (although I suggested it, because then we wouldn’t have to buy it…), so we just caught the first scene to make sure the thing plays, video, audio and Su Su Sudio.
When I sat down to watch this movie last night, the first scene went by fine, but as soon as the actors started in on their dialogue, I noticed there were captions at the bottom. No problem, I’ll just go into the audio set up and turn the captions off. I tried this, but no dice. They stayed on, no matter how many times I went back and turned them off. Ok, there was a glitch. Then I looked closely at the captions. The first thing I read was, “Target acquired, should I fire?” okay, this was a Western afterall, and maybe somebody in the background said that and I missed it. I am a little hard of hearing. But then I started to read things like “You don’t step to this. I’m straight thuggin’ boy.” Wow, Brad Pitt is really working some magic with the suggested script! “He ain’t yo baby Daddy!” Woah! This is getting exciting! I didn’t know Jerry Springer existed in the 1800’s.
Just then, the movie switched to black & white, and the captions moved from the bottom of the screen, to the middle, conveniently covering Casey Afflek’s face. Ok. I can live with that. But why black & white? I ejected the disk and looked at it. On the top, everything looked legit, but when I turned it over, there was a strange burn mark on the middle of the disk, near the hole. That can’t be normal. I put it back in, and the captions were still ghetto fabulous. I don’t know which movie they mixed up the captions with, but it’s so ridiculous, that I want to see it now. I kept catching myself reading the captions and getting a good laugh. I was imagining Jesse James’ southern drawl saying “Check yoself fool!”
I finished watching the movie, but I think I’ll need to watch it again. My wife started watching it halfway through with me, and she had a bunch of questions. I tried to explain the story to her, but she kept saying “Who’s Tyrone?” and “I thought this was in Missouri not the Bronx.” Oh well, I kinda got two movies for the price of one. Maybe buying counterfeit dvds isn’t such a bad move. You get all the excitement of gunfights, horseback riding and saloon brawls, but if you get bored during the slow scenes, someone is always getting “capped” in the captions. “Yo Tyrone! Pass me the remote! My sister’s cousin is on Jerry Springer. You know, the one I had a baby with? Yeuh, she fine. Now run to the DVD store and pick me up a copy of The Pianist. I heard the captions is from Super Troopers! Baaaam!”
When I sat down to watch this movie last night, the first scene went by fine, but as soon as the actors started in on their dialogue, I noticed there were captions at the bottom. No problem, I’ll just go into the audio set up and turn the captions off. I tried this, but no dice. They stayed on, no matter how many times I went back and turned them off. Ok, there was a glitch. Then I looked closely at the captions. The first thing I read was, “Target acquired, should I fire?” okay, this was a Western afterall, and maybe somebody in the background said that and I missed it. I am a little hard of hearing. But then I started to read things like “You don’t step to this. I’m straight thuggin’ boy.” Wow, Brad Pitt is really working some magic with the suggested script! “He ain’t yo baby Daddy!” Woah! This is getting exciting! I didn’t know Jerry Springer existed in the 1800’s.
Just then, the movie switched to black & white, and the captions moved from the bottom of the screen, to the middle, conveniently covering Casey Afflek’s face. Ok. I can live with that. But why black & white? I ejected the disk and looked at it. On the top, everything looked legit, but when I turned it over, there was a strange burn mark on the middle of the disk, near the hole. That can’t be normal. I put it back in, and the captions were still ghetto fabulous. I don’t know which movie they mixed up the captions with, but it’s so ridiculous, that I want to see it now. I kept catching myself reading the captions and getting a good laugh. I was imagining Jesse James’ southern drawl saying “Check yoself fool!”
I finished watching the movie, but I think I’ll need to watch it again. My wife started watching it halfway through with me, and she had a bunch of questions. I tried to explain the story to her, but she kept saying “Who’s Tyrone?” and “I thought this was in Missouri not the Bronx.” Oh well, I kinda got two movies for the price of one. Maybe buying counterfeit dvds isn’t such a bad move. You get all the excitement of gunfights, horseback riding and saloon brawls, but if you get bored during the slow scenes, someone is always getting “capped” in the captions. “Yo Tyrone! Pass me the remote! My sister’s cousin is on Jerry Springer. You know, the one I had a baby with? Yeuh, she fine. Now run to the DVD store and pick me up a copy of The Pianist. I heard the captions is from Super Troopers! Baaaam!”
The Recovery Pt 2 / Cabin Feverish
I think my wife is getting over her sickness now. Her temperature is down to a tidy 36 degrees, and she ate some breakfast today. Real breakfast, not judge sludgy rice soup. She was up and walking around earlier, and even decided not to wear her winter coat in the house. She was having hot and cold spells over the last day or so, but I think the worst is behind her now.
I, on the other hand, am starting to lose it. We haven’t left the apartment for 2 full days now, and I’m feeling a bit trapped. Physically, I feel perfectly fine, but I can’t leave. I have everything I need here; food, water, notebooks for complaining about my problems, but I’m kind of on an invisible leash here. I don’t even have a key, or the address, or the phone number, so if I go out there and get lost, they’d have to release the blood hounds to find me. “Will these dogs just FIND Nathan, or will they find and KILL him? What’s that officer? You’re trailing off.”
So, as I gaze out the window at the bustling city below, while my wife has her afternoon nap, I feel a big hankering to go outside and play. I’m like a kid with a new kite during a thunderstorm. And no, not Ben Franklin. If I’m cooped up for much longer, my brain will probably start looking like the fried egg in those late 80’s, DEA funded “This is your brain on drugs” commercials. Actually, some good drugs might hit the spot right about now. No dice. China isn’t as “hip” as Vancouver. You can’t just walk down East Hastings street over here and get offered crack, smack, H, blow, rock, powder, dust, rust, speed, cid, GHB, LSD, PCP, You down wit OPP, Oxycontin, Exstacy or wallpaper glue. Looks like I’m on my own. I’ll just sit back nd get lost in this crazy brain of mine.
“What’s that, talking gumball machine? There’s an armadillo tapping on the window? C’mon in little guy! But don’t make any noise, you’ll wake up the baby escalators.”
So, if you haven’t already guessed it, this is that part in The Shining where Jack loses it. I don’t think I’ll try to chop anybody up with an axe or anything, but I may just have a slight case of cabin fever. Bourbon, please. And leave the bottle, Jeeves.
I, on the other hand, am starting to lose it. We haven’t left the apartment for 2 full days now, and I’m feeling a bit trapped. Physically, I feel perfectly fine, but I can’t leave. I have everything I need here; food, water, notebooks for complaining about my problems, but I’m kind of on an invisible leash here. I don’t even have a key, or the address, or the phone number, so if I go out there and get lost, they’d have to release the blood hounds to find me. “Will these dogs just FIND Nathan, or will they find and KILL him? What’s that officer? You’re trailing off.”
So, as I gaze out the window at the bustling city below, while my wife has her afternoon nap, I feel a big hankering to go outside and play. I’m like a kid with a new kite during a thunderstorm. And no, not Ben Franklin. If I’m cooped up for much longer, my brain will probably start looking like the fried egg in those late 80’s, DEA funded “This is your brain on drugs” commercials. Actually, some good drugs might hit the spot right about now. No dice. China isn’t as “hip” as Vancouver. You can’t just walk down East Hastings street over here and get offered crack, smack, H, blow, rock, powder, dust, rust, speed, cid, GHB, LSD, PCP, You down wit OPP, Oxycontin, Exstacy or wallpaper glue. Looks like I’m on my own. I’ll just sit back nd get lost in this crazy brain of mine.
“What’s that, talking gumball machine? There’s an armadillo tapping on the window? C’mon in little guy! But don’t make any noise, you’ll wake up the baby escalators.”
So, if you haven’t already guessed it, this is that part in The Shining where Jack loses it. I don’t think I’ll try to chop anybody up with an axe or anything, but I may just have a slight case of cabin fever. Bourbon, please. And leave the bottle, Jeeves.
March 5th - The Recovery
As I write this, my wife is burning up, and there’s nothing I can do about it. No Nyquil, no Lemon Tea, not even my precious Buckley’s is available. We are about to venture into the strange realm of Chinese medicine. It turns out that my wife’s Aunt (not sure if they are actually related, or if it’s another “family friend” aunt type thing) is a doctor, and she recommended some medicine that will help bring the fever down. My job is to periodically take her temperature and play Forest Nightingump while trying to nurse her back to health.
I know we’re all in this to help her get better, but I get the slight feeling that Mother-In-Law is treating this like a competition between the two of us. Who loves you more, your husband, or your mother? All I can really do is talk to my wife, run a needs analysis (thank you marketing 101) now and then and offer my love & support. Mother-In-Law has just entered the room with a pharmaceutical cocktail for my wife to swallow down. She took it like a soldier, but a few minutes later, I could hear her puking up the pills, along with anything else that was still inside her. She’s barely eaten anything, so I imagine she’s in pain right now. We all know what a dry-heave fells and sounds like. I imagine the best thing for her right now would be a good night’s sleep. She asked if I could lie down next to her. It would help her sleep. It’s only about 9:00, but I climbed into bed anyway. Maybe an early night would be good for me too. Couldn’t hurt.
I woke up at 6:30 the next morning and felt my wife’s forehead. She wasn’t feeling as hot, but her face looked kinda clammy. She came around, and I asked to take her temperature. We have one of those old school mercury thermometers, the kind you stick under your armpit. I got her a glass of hot water while waited 5 minutes for her armpit to perculate. When I checked the little glass vial, it read 38 degrees Centigrade. A little warm. Mother-In-Law was up now, and entered our room to check on her daughter. The exchanged a few words, and my wife told me she was going to see the doctor today, and I was to stay home. I don’t know if that was her decision or her mother’s, but either way I stayed put.
A couple hours later, they returned. My wife looked worse than before. “The took blood outta me,” she said weakly. I walked her to our room and helped her into bed. She fell asleep almost instantly. A few minutes later, the maid knocked on the door to tell us that lunch was ready. I just noticed I was starving. Amid all the medical melee, breakfast had slipped my mind. I helped my wife out of bed and suggested she eat something. After I give blood, they always give me cookies to help get the juices flowing again and all that. She had a small bowl of congee, a sort of mushy rice soup. She requested some ice cream, but her mother told her to avoid sweets. I fed her some vegetables, which I thought would help restore her iron, but mother gave me a scornful look. Only congee. Ahh well, mother knows best.
After we attempted to eat lunch, I helped my poor wife back to bed and tucked her in. She told me that she’s been sick 3 times so far in this young 2008. What could cause this sudden rash of sickness? She’s usually quite healthy. Guess what he doctor told her. The pollution is making her sick. They took a swab from her throat , which didn’t look good. It’s probably a result of the toxins in the air and water. That explains it. Vancouver is so nice and green, with a few old growth trees still kicking around, and tons of green space right in the city to help cleanse the air we breathe. I guess we’re lucky that the citizens stood up to industry there, and said “Put your mills somewhere else – not in our backyard.” Now that I think about it, my wife and I both got sick when we visited my parents in Saint John, NB too. Here in Harbin, the air quality is pretty bad, and once we get back to Vancouver, her chances for recovery will likely increase.
For now, she's sleeping away, and I’m just trying to give her some space. I’ve vacated the bedroom in favour of the living room, where ironically, I have a perfect view of the smoky skyline. I’ll keep you posted on the recovery efforts, but for now, I’ll thank you not to disturb the patient. Visiting hours are now closed. I’m just gonna sneak in and close the window. I think she’s had enough “air” for one day.
I know we’re all in this to help her get better, but I get the slight feeling that Mother-In-Law is treating this like a competition between the two of us. Who loves you more, your husband, or your mother? All I can really do is talk to my wife, run a needs analysis (thank you marketing 101) now and then and offer my love & support. Mother-In-Law has just entered the room with a pharmaceutical cocktail for my wife to swallow down. She took it like a soldier, but a few minutes later, I could hear her puking up the pills, along with anything else that was still inside her. She’s barely eaten anything, so I imagine she’s in pain right now. We all know what a dry-heave fells and sounds like. I imagine the best thing for her right now would be a good night’s sleep. She asked if I could lie down next to her. It would help her sleep. It’s only about 9:00, but I climbed into bed anyway. Maybe an early night would be good for me too. Couldn’t hurt.
I woke up at 6:30 the next morning and felt my wife’s forehead. She wasn’t feeling as hot, but her face looked kinda clammy. She came around, and I asked to take her temperature. We have one of those old school mercury thermometers, the kind you stick under your armpit. I got her a glass of hot water while waited 5 minutes for her armpit to perculate. When I checked the little glass vial, it read 38 degrees Centigrade. A little warm. Mother-In-Law was up now, and entered our room to check on her daughter. The exchanged a few words, and my wife told me she was going to see the doctor today, and I was to stay home. I don’t know if that was her decision or her mother’s, but either way I stayed put.
A couple hours later, they returned. My wife looked worse than before. “The took blood outta me,” she said weakly. I walked her to our room and helped her into bed. She fell asleep almost instantly. A few minutes later, the maid knocked on the door to tell us that lunch was ready. I just noticed I was starving. Amid all the medical melee, breakfast had slipped my mind. I helped my wife out of bed and suggested she eat something. After I give blood, they always give me cookies to help get the juices flowing again and all that. She had a small bowl of congee, a sort of mushy rice soup. She requested some ice cream, but her mother told her to avoid sweets. I fed her some vegetables, which I thought would help restore her iron, but mother gave me a scornful look. Only congee. Ahh well, mother knows best.
After we attempted to eat lunch, I helped my poor wife back to bed and tucked her in. She told me that she’s been sick 3 times so far in this young 2008. What could cause this sudden rash of sickness? She’s usually quite healthy. Guess what he doctor told her. The pollution is making her sick. They took a swab from her throat , which didn’t look good. It’s probably a result of the toxins in the air and water. That explains it. Vancouver is so nice and green, with a few old growth trees still kicking around, and tons of green space right in the city to help cleanse the air we breathe. I guess we’re lucky that the citizens stood up to industry there, and said “Put your mills somewhere else – not in our backyard.” Now that I think about it, my wife and I both got sick when we visited my parents in Saint John, NB too. Here in Harbin, the air quality is pretty bad, and once we get back to Vancouver, her chances for recovery will likely increase.
For now, she's sleeping away, and I’m just trying to give her some space. I’ve vacated the bedroom in favour of the living room, where ironically, I have a perfect view of the smoky skyline. I’ll keep you posted on the recovery efforts, but for now, I’ll thank you not to disturb the patient. Visiting hours are now closed. I’m just gonna sneak in and close the window. I think she’s had enough “air” for one day.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
The Big 5-0/ I'm feeling a bit restricted.
I just noticed that this blog hit 50 entries as of yesterday. I had originally set out to write 1 entry per day, but I guess I went a bit overboard with it. Once you lose your mind, it's difficult to find it again. I still have some time left before I head back to our Home & Native Land, so I just wanted to thank you Mr & Mrs Reader for coming along on this crazy journey with me.
One other thing I wanted to comment on was, well, comments. I have discovered that over here in China, there is quite a bit of censorship/restrictions when it comes to public internet use. I think this includes reading the blogs of private citizens, just in case they write something deflammatory towards the current government or say something that goes against the grain of Chinese society. That being said, I haven't been able to view my blog or any of the comments that are left. I can't even tell if I have comments (I hope I do) until I get back to Canada.
I heard a little story that, if you type certain words on MSN Messenger over here, they just vanish when you hit "Enter". For example, there was a Chinese politician who was suspected of accepting bribes, and escaped to Canada. Can't remember his name, but you may have heard of him. I haven't signed in to my messenger account once since arriving in China, for fear that somebody out there is monitoring my discussions. I'm even hesitant to use my personal email account. So, if you sent me an email and I haven't gotten back to you, please be patient and I'll contact you as soon as I get back. I don't have access to the internet every day, so I try to use my limited time to update this blog as often as possible. Writing an entry is no problem. I just can't tell if it's been "Edited" or not. Scary, no? Something we don't think of back in the true north strong and FREE.
So, thanks for reading, and maybe I'll go buy my blog a birthday cake or something. I'm gonna have to hold the candles up really close to that little fan in the back of the computer, but hopefully I won't get too much frosting on the flash drive.
One other thing I wanted to comment on was, well, comments. I have discovered that over here in China, there is quite a bit of censorship/restrictions when it comes to public internet use. I think this includes reading the blogs of private citizens, just in case they write something deflammatory towards the current government or say something that goes against the grain of Chinese society. That being said, I haven't been able to view my blog or any of the comments that are left. I can't even tell if I have comments (I hope I do) until I get back to Canada.
I heard a little story that, if you type certain words on MSN Messenger over here, they just vanish when you hit "Enter". For example, there was a Chinese politician who was suspected of accepting bribes, and escaped to Canada. Can't remember his name, but you may have heard of him. I haven't signed in to my messenger account once since arriving in China, for fear that somebody out there is monitoring my discussions. I'm even hesitant to use my personal email account. So, if you sent me an email and I haven't gotten back to you, please be patient and I'll contact you as soon as I get back. I don't have access to the internet every day, so I try to use my limited time to update this blog as often as possible. Writing an entry is no problem. I just can't tell if it's been "Edited" or not. Scary, no? Something we don't think of back in the true north strong and FREE.
So, thanks for reading, and maybe I'll go buy my blog a birthday cake or something. I'm gonna have to hold the candles up really close to that little fan in the back of the computer, but hopefully I won't get too much frosting on the flash drive.
Monday, March 3, 2008
March 2nd - She has the Flu, She has the Flute
I woke up early this morning to do some exercising. I have the benefit of a treadmill right here in our apartment, which has come in handy on this trip, what with all the rich food & booze I've been enjoying. I was careful not to make any noise as I got out of bed. I figured my wife could use a snooze, so I didn't want to wake her.
After my run, I went in to chack on Sleeping Beauty. She didn't look too well. As she sat up, she told me her stomach was bothering her, and she didn't feel like having breakfast. She's usually a good eater, so this worried me a bit. I told her to go back to sleep, and she followed my orders. Her forehead felt a bit hot, too. not a good sign. I wondered out loud if we should cancel our dinner plans for tonight, but she said she could battle through, and of course we had a flute recital she didn't want to miss. So, after her nap, we got ready to walk over to cousin's house where the concert was to be held. At first, I objected to leaving the house. My wife didn't look too well. But, she said she was fine and wanted some fresh air anyway. On the 5-minute walk, I found myself propping her up most of the way, my arms wrapped around her like a seatbelt.
We arrived at Cousin Clotheshorse's place, and Niecy was excited to see us. She looked different today. Something with her hair, I'm not sure. I'm no good at noticing things like that. She could have had a nose job for all I know. She greeted us with a smile, and led us into the living room, where she proudly assembled her long, silver flute. She got right to it & began playing. My god, she was good! She started off with a classical piece that I unfortunately didn't recognize, then a traditional Chinese piece, and finally, she told me that she was going to play the themesong from Titanic, "My Heart Will Go On". Now, I'm not a huge fan of Celyn Dion. Actually I find her chest-pounding and overacting a bit annoying, but through this shiny metal cylinder attached to this girl's lips, it sounded beautiful. I gave her a standing ovation. She looked so happy.
After the concert was over, we were rushed out the door to dinner at a nearby restaurant. Niecy looked a little nervous on the car-ride. She sat next to me in the car, and I noticed that her hand was shaking a little. "I liked your playing," I said. "Oh, thank you," she beemed. There. I think that took the edge off a little. In some ways, she is like a scared little girl trapped inside a young woman's body. She seems so unsure of herself, but she ought not to be.
Now, back to my ill wife. I felt so bad for her. "Maybe we should just go home," i said. "no, it's okay. i want to be here," she groaned. I thought she was just being polite. "Let's go home, honestly," I begged. But she just sat down at the table, not eating anything, all the while looking miserable. I tried to do the husbandly thing, you know offering her my jacket in case she was cold, topping up her water glass and offering to take her home, but she refused.
It turns out there was an alterior motive for this dinner. Mother-In-Law has some friends with a son around the same age as our niece, and she was just dying to play Cupid, and introduce them. i don't know how arranged marriages work, but this seemed very awkward. Bachelor #1 was carted in amid lots of handshakes and how-do-you-do's. The whole time I kept sneaking looks over at Niecy, to guage her reaction. She did not look herself. She was sitting extremely upright, and I think I saw her hands shaking again. Then, all of a sudden she got up and quietly assembled her flute. She was going to perform for us again! She said, in perfect English, "This is called My Heart Will Go On. It's Nathan's favourite." Only my wife and I understood her, so she said it again, in Chinese. She began playing with such gusto; moving gracefully with the sweet melodies. She was owning this performance, and making her uncle proud! We all clapped, and when she returned to her seat, I gave her a high-five.
All throughout dinner, there was a strange feeling in the air. Bachelor #1 barely looked at his "date" during her performance, and the two hadn't exchanged a single word since the how-do-you-do's. I decided to interject, and attempt to break the ice. "Do you speak any English?" I asked him. He told me that his English was very bad, but did manage to tell me his name, age, and where he goes to school. Basically name, rank and serial number. "Great," I said. Then I told him my name, where I'm from and how much I enjoyed this country of his. Then I looked over at niecy, and my wife made a nod from her to Bachelor Boy, a sort of "talk to him" in pantomime. It's obvious that he wasn't going to make a move. She looked around, whetted her lips and started to speak. But it wasn't to her date. She said, "Nathan, I want to know how to spell your name." "Got a pen?" I asked. Never mind, I spelled it out loud for her (N-A-T-H-A-N, in case you were wondering) and she smiled, adding that she liked her tea, and did I like mine. I smiled and nodded. My little scheme had failed.
I'm flattered that this girl wanted to make small talk with me, but now is not the time nor the place! She should be getting to know the fellow to her right. You know, finding out if she'd like to marry him and all that. I don't know how these sort of things work though. Maybe they have to play croquet or sacrifice a pig before they exchange words. The Bachelor's father proposed a toast, and I obliged, downing a small glass of hot Chinese wine. Yikes! Everyone had a good laugh, as it turns out it was a "sipping wine". I was burned in more ways than one.
I noticed to my left, that my wife's condition was getting progressively worse. She was now doubled-over with her head on the dinner table. Ok, this time I'm finished negotiating. "Do you want me to take you home?" I said sternly. This was not a question in the classic sense. "But I ordered you a Bibimbap (Korean rice dish)," she said. Look, I don't care if you ordered me Billy The Kid, we're leaving. I took a couple last bites to show her I was thankful for her ordering it for me, then I thanked everyonefor dinner, got our coats and walked my ailing wife to the elevator. On the way out, I thanked my niece for the performance. "Maybe you will call me?" she asked, making the telephone sign with her long, flautist's fingers. "I don't know how to use a Chinese telephone. It's better that I don't." I thought. "Call her," I said, pointing to my wife. I helped her into the lift and walked her around the corner to her mother's apartment, doing the human seatbelt thing again. Once we got home, I put her into bed, and she used her last ounce of strength to call a doctor, who happens to be a friend of her mother's. The Doc suggested some medicine, which the maid just ran out to get. I'm crossing my fingers for ya, honey. Nobody likes to get sick, especially on their vacation. I've been there, and they don't put hospitals on postcards, that's for sure.
After my run, I went in to chack on Sleeping Beauty. She didn't look too well. As she sat up, she told me her stomach was bothering her, and she didn't feel like having breakfast. She's usually a good eater, so this worried me a bit. I told her to go back to sleep, and she followed my orders. Her forehead felt a bit hot, too. not a good sign. I wondered out loud if we should cancel our dinner plans for tonight, but she said she could battle through, and of course we had a flute recital she didn't want to miss. So, after her nap, we got ready to walk over to cousin's house where the concert was to be held. At first, I objected to leaving the house. My wife didn't look too well. But, she said she was fine and wanted some fresh air anyway. On the 5-minute walk, I found myself propping her up most of the way, my arms wrapped around her like a seatbelt.
We arrived at Cousin Clotheshorse's place, and Niecy was excited to see us. She looked different today. Something with her hair, I'm not sure. I'm no good at noticing things like that. She could have had a nose job for all I know. She greeted us with a smile, and led us into the living room, where she proudly assembled her long, silver flute. She got right to it & began playing. My god, she was good! She started off with a classical piece that I unfortunately didn't recognize, then a traditional Chinese piece, and finally, she told me that she was going to play the themesong from Titanic, "My Heart Will Go On". Now, I'm not a huge fan of Celyn Dion. Actually I find her chest-pounding and overacting a bit annoying, but through this shiny metal cylinder attached to this girl's lips, it sounded beautiful. I gave her a standing ovation. She looked so happy.
After the concert was over, we were rushed out the door to dinner at a nearby restaurant. Niecy looked a little nervous on the car-ride. She sat next to me in the car, and I noticed that her hand was shaking a little. "I liked your playing," I said. "Oh, thank you," she beemed. There. I think that took the edge off a little. In some ways, she is like a scared little girl trapped inside a young woman's body. She seems so unsure of herself, but she ought not to be.
Now, back to my ill wife. I felt so bad for her. "Maybe we should just go home," i said. "no, it's okay. i want to be here," she groaned. I thought she was just being polite. "Let's go home, honestly," I begged. But she just sat down at the table, not eating anything, all the while looking miserable. I tried to do the husbandly thing, you know offering her my jacket in case she was cold, topping up her water glass and offering to take her home, but she refused.
It turns out there was an alterior motive for this dinner. Mother-In-Law has some friends with a son around the same age as our niece, and she was just dying to play Cupid, and introduce them. i don't know how arranged marriages work, but this seemed very awkward. Bachelor #1 was carted in amid lots of handshakes and how-do-you-do's. The whole time I kept sneaking looks over at Niecy, to guage her reaction. She did not look herself. She was sitting extremely upright, and I think I saw her hands shaking again. Then, all of a sudden she got up and quietly assembled her flute. She was going to perform for us again! She said, in perfect English, "This is called My Heart Will Go On. It's Nathan's favourite." Only my wife and I understood her, so she said it again, in Chinese. She began playing with such gusto; moving gracefully with the sweet melodies. She was owning this performance, and making her uncle proud! We all clapped, and when she returned to her seat, I gave her a high-five.
All throughout dinner, there was a strange feeling in the air. Bachelor #1 barely looked at his "date" during her performance, and the two hadn't exchanged a single word since the how-do-you-do's. I decided to interject, and attempt to break the ice. "Do you speak any English?" I asked him. He told me that his English was very bad, but did manage to tell me his name, age, and where he goes to school. Basically name, rank and serial number. "Great," I said. Then I told him my name, where I'm from and how much I enjoyed this country of his. Then I looked over at niecy, and my wife made a nod from her to Bachelor Boy, a sort of "talk to him" in pantomime. It's obvious that he wasn't going to make a move. She looked around, whetted her lips and started to speak. But it wasn't to her date. She said, "Nathan, I want to know how to spell your name." "Got a pen?" I asked. Never mind, I spelled it out loud for her (N-A-T-H-A-N, in case you were wondering) and she smiled, adding that she liked her tea, and did I like mine. I smiled and nodded. My little scheme had failed.
I'm flattered that this girl wanted to make small talk with me, but now is not the time nor the place! She should be getting to know the fellow to her right. You know, finding out if she'd like to marry him and all that. I don't know how these sort of things work though. Maybe they have to play croquet or sacrifice a pig before they exchange words. The Bachelor's father proposed a toast, and I obliged, downing a small glass of hot Chinese wine. Yikes! Everyone had a good laugh, as it turns out it was a "sipping wine". I was burned in more ways than one.
I noticed to my left, that my wife's condition was getting progressively worse. She was now doubled-over with her head on the dinner table. Ok, this time I'm finished negotiating. "Do you want me to take you home?" I said sternly. This was not a question in the classic sense. "But I ordered you a Bibimbap (Korean rice dish)," she said. Look, I don't care if you ordered me Billy The Kid, we're leaving. I took a couple last bites to show her I was thankful for her ordering it for me, then I thanked everyonefor dinner, got our coats and walked my ailing wife to the elevator. On the way out, I thanked my niece for the performance. "Maybe you will call me?" she asked, making the telephone sign with her long, flautist's fingers. "I don't know how to use a Chinese telephone. It's better that I don't." I thought. "Call her," I said, pointing to my wife. I helped her into the lift and walked her around the corner to her mother's apartment, doing the human seatbelt thing again. Once we got home, I put her into bed, and she used her last ounce of strength to call a doctor, who happens to be a friend of her mother's. The Doc suggested some medicine, which the maid just ran out to get. I'm crossing my fingers for ya, honey. Nobody likes to get sick, especially on their vacation. I've been there, and they don't put hospitals on postcards, that's for sure.
March 1st 2008 - You Might Say It's In My Jeans
Today we went clothes shopping, and as a role-reversal, I was the buyer and my wife the hanger-on. Her cousin, the clotheshorse of the family, knows all the hot spots and possesses a true gift when it comes to knocking down the price of things. I've come to discover that unless you are in a department store, everything is negotiable in these parts. I was after a couple pair of pants and my wife suggested I buy a new jacket as well. Since I've dropped a couple of sizes over the years, my beloved waist-length army jacket looks like a camoflaged weather balloon on me.
We were on our way to pick up Cousin Clotheshorse, when my wife told me her neice would be coming along too. Cool! More family! In China, people my age belong to the "Only Child Generation" - there is a single birth-rule for every family. I mean, it's not like they kill your 2nd born, but you have to pay a fine for every additional child. I guess it's to ease the burden on a developing country. This rule came into effect after our parents would have been born. I guess the baby boom was happening all over the world, not just at home. With no immediate siblings, this means that cousins, neices and nephews are closer than ever. I think that's pretty cool, especially since my 2 best friends growing up happen to be cousins, but we were often mistaken for 3 brothers.
The last time my wife saw her neice, she was a short, pudgy little girl whose fat rolls everyone used to pinch. Not anymore! i was taken aback when I saw this beautiful girl towering over my wife, hugging her like a power forward hugs a point guard in the WNBA. I couldn't believe my eyes. The resemblance was uncanny! Aside of course from the extra 6 inches or so in height. I was immediately ordered to stand back-to-back with this girl, who was only an inch or two shorter than me. Everyone back home is always saying how short Asian girls are. Actually this one friend of mine said there are 2 things he would miss if he moved to China: His Mom's cooking, and tall girls. Well, our little neice is just an average Northern Chinese girl, who are on average taller than the rest of the country's girls. After our introduction & measuring, my wife translated for me that my niece doesn't speak English very well, but was glad to meet me.
The 4 of us all headed out into the brisk Harbin morning (Cousin Clotheshorse, Big Neice, my wife and I). I was told we were headed for the Underground Market - literally. We walked down what looked like a subway entrance, through some tarps hanging in the doorway (to keep the heat in) and into a food court. It reminded me of a meat locker, but the smells inside told me that the meat was rancid. I held my nose as we passed the "mystery-meat-on-a-stick" and "What's That? in a bowl" stands, and entered a giant hall of various clothing and dirt merchants. You can tell right away that you should disregard all brand names here. Everything is of the highest knock-off quality.
Cousin Clotheshorse, or C.C. as I'll call her, once owned a clothing store in another city, so she knows how to spot shotty material, weak stitching, and can tell you what the real value of any article is, never mind what the tag says. If the retailer tries to tell us the base cost for something, C.C. calls them on their lie. She told us that jeans never cost more than 80-100 yuan a pair when you buy them wholesale. In one store, they were marked up to 280 a pair, and the salesmen wouldn't budge much, so we moved on. I spotted a pair of dark blue jeans I liked, and so I asked if I could try them on.
Well, at the Underground Market, fitting rooms are a luxury not every merchant can afford, let me tell you. If you are lucky, they'll let you step back into the gap behind their back wall so you can strip down among the tepid water and rat feces. At the very least, they would provide you with a tattered sheet to drape over yourself while pantsless. However, the accomodations were less than inviting at one store. "Uhh, you can stand behind that rack, I guess," said the salesman. What a cheeky bastard. But no, I would soon find out that I was the one who was about to be cheeky. The rack only covered me from the other people in the store. Anyone walking down the hallway could see my undies from this vantage point. The shopkeep probably thought it would attract business. Well, I was certainly attracting attention. I think ol' cousin and niecy stuck a peek, but then again, who could blame them? Here I was on display for all of the underground society to see.
After trying on a few more pairs of jeans in this manner, I settled on 2 pairs that I liked and we were moving on to jackets. As I said before, I had in-grown (is that the opposite of out-grown?) my beloved army jacket and I was thinking of something in the leather department. Nothing too bikery, more classy like in The Matrix or something. I tried on a few, but nothing really stirred my martini, so to speak. Then, in the second to last shop in the place, I spotted a dark brown zippered number with my name on it. Now, I was briefed back in a previous store (pun intended, very intended) on the art of haggling, and the trick is to never look too impressed by anything you want to buy. In other words, act like you don't really want this piece of clothing, but you might be persuaded to buy it. "I guess it's pretty okay," I said, handing it back to the merchant. "280 Yuan," she said. "C'mon, let's go," said C.C., and the games had begun. The further we walked, the lower the price fell, until we were so far away, we could just barely make out a faint "200" echoing down the cavernous hallway. We turned back, purchased the jacket, and all had a good laugh. That is, except for Madame Shopkeep. She looked quite angry.
Now, a shirt was needed to accompany my new jacket and pants. I looked ina couple of shops, but everything looked so metrosexual to me. I dunno, men's shirst seem very flamboyant and flashy over here, all frilly and V-necked. i saw one little number I liked, and asked if I could try it on. "Go ahead," said the merchant. I could tell that a fitting room was out of the question. So, here I was half-naked again standing in this little clothing shop amid the stares and whispers of generall gawkers, and I'm proud to say, a female admirer or two. I guess tattoos aren't very common over here, because cousin and niece asked if they could have another look/touch. I don't have the world's most meaningful or thought-provoking tattoos or anything, but I could tell this was a new discovery for them. Needless to say, I didn't buy any of those blouses, so we left with what we had.
I emerged from the depths of the underground market with 2 pairs of comfy jeans and a brand new genuine leatherish jacket. Not a bad day, overall. The most interesting part of my day though, was the introduction of a new character into my little story. My new niece was really something, I thought. When we went back home, I got a chance to talk to her a bit and do some background research. It turns out that her English isn't half bad afterall! She was just a bit shy at first. After seeing me strip down to my skivvies, I think the shyness shoe was on the other foot now, and she started to loosen up around me.
I found out that she is 20 years old, a film student here in Harbin, and she is a flautist. She showed me some pictures of her playing flute on her cellphone. I also learned that her father sadly passed away 5 years ago. This girl actually broke down and cried when she was talking about him. That takes guts, people. To open up emotionally like that in front of someone you've only just met a few hours ago, that takes guts. My wife and cousin consoled her with hugs, kisses and tissues, and she was back to her smiling self again a little later.
I'm glad I got to meet my niece. I see a lot of stories in her. I don't know, it's wierd to see people as characters and subject matter and all that, but I just get the feeling that this person is interesting and has a story to tell. My wife and I planned to get together with her again tomorrow, and she promised to bring her flute and play us a song.
We were on our way to pick up Cousin Clotheshorse, when my wife told me her neice would be coming along too. Cool! More family! In China, people my age belong to the "Only Child Generation" - there is a single birth-rule for every family. I mean, it's not like they kill your 2nd born, but you have to pay a fine for every additional child. I guess it's to ease the burden on a developing country. This rule came into effect after our parents would have been born. I guess the baby boom was happening all over the world, not just at home. With no immediate siblings, this means that cousins, neices and nephews are closer than ever. I think that's pretty cool, especially since my 2 best friends growing up happen to be cousins, but we were often mistaken for 3 brothers.
The last time my wife saw her neice, she was a short, pudgy little girl whose fat rolls everyone used to pinch. Not anymore! i was taken aback when I saw this beautiful girl towering over my wife, hugging her like a power forward hugs a point guard in the WNBA. I couldn't believe my eyes. The resemblance was uncanny! Aside of course from the extra 6 inches or so in height. I was immediately ordered to stand back-to-back with this girl, who was only an inch or two shorter than me. Everyone back home is always saying how short Asian girls are. Actually this one friend of mine said there are 2 things he would miss if he moved to China: His Mom's cooking, and tall girls. Well, our little neice is just an average Northern Chinese girl, who are on average taller than the rest of the country's girls. After our introduction & measuring, my wife translated for me that my niece doesn't speak English very well, but was glad to meet me.
The 4 of us all headed out into the brisk Harbin morning (Cousin Clotheshorse, Big Neice, my wife and I). I was told we were headed for the Underground Market - literally. We walked down what looked like a subway entrance, through some tarps hanging in the doorway (to keep the heat in) and into a food court. It reminded me of a meat locker, but the smells inside told me that the meat was rancid. I held my nose as we passed the "mystery-meat-on-a-stick" and "What's That? in a bowl" stands, and entered a giant hall of various clothing and dirt merchants. You can tell right away that you should disregard all brand names here. Everything is of the highest knock-off quality.
Cousin Clotheshorse, or C.C. as I'll call her, once owned a clothing store in another city, so she knows how to spot shotty material, weak stitching, and can tell you what the real value of any article is, never mind what the tag says. If the retailer tries to tell us the base cost for something, C.C. calls them on their lie. She told us that jeans never cost more than 80-100 yuan a pair when you buy them wholesale. In one store, they were marked up to 280 a pair, and the salesmen wouldn't budge much, so we moved on. I spotted a pair of dark blue jeans I liked, and so I asked if I could try them on.
Well, at the Underground Market, fitting rooms are a luxury not every merchant can afford, let me tell you. If you are lucky, they'll let you step back into the gap behind their back wall so you can strip down among the tepid water and rat feces. At the very least, they would provide you with a tattered sheet to drape over yourself while pantsless. However, the accomodations were less than inviting at one store. "Uhh, you can stand behind that rack, I guess," said the salesman. What a cheeky bastard. But no, I would soon find out that I was the one who was about to be cheeky. The rack only covered me from the other people in the store. Anyone walking down the hallway could see my undies from this vantage point. The shopkeep probably thought it would attract business. Well, I was certainly attracting attention. I think ol' cousin and niecy stuck a peek, but then again, who could blame them? Here I was on display for all of the underground society to see.
After trying on a few more pairs of jeans in this manner, I settled on 2 pairs that I liked and we were moving on to jackets. As I said before, I had in-grown (is that the opposite of out-grown?) my beloved army jacket and I was thinking of something in the leather department. Nothing too bikery, more classy like in The Matrix or something. I tried on a few, but nothing really stirred my martini, so to speak. Then, in the second to last shop in the place, I spotted a dark brown zippered number with my name on it. Now, I was briefed back in a previous store (pun intended, very intended) on the art of haggling, and the trick is to never look too impressed by anything you want to buy. In other words, act like you don't really want this piece of clothing, but you might be persuaded to buy it. "I guess it's pretty okay," I said, handing it back to the merchant. "280 Yuan," she said. "C'mon, let's go," said C.C., and the games had begun. The further we walked, the lower the price fell, until we were so far away, we could just barely make out a faint "200" echoing down the cavernous hallway. We turned back, purchased the jacket, and all had a good laugh. That is, except for Madame Shopkeep. She looked quite angry.
Now, a shirt was needed to accompany my new jacket and pants. I looked ina couple of shops, but everything looked so metrosexual to me. I dunno, men's shirst seem very flamboyant and flashy over here, all frilly and V-necked. i saw one little number I liked, and asked if I could try it on. "Go ahead," said the merchant. I could tell that a fitting room was out of the question. So, here I was half-naked again standing in this little clothing shop amid the stares and whispers of generall gawkers, and I'm proud to say, a female admirer or two. I guess tattoos aren't very common over here, because cousin and niece asked if they could have another look/touch. I don't have the world's most meaningful or thought-provoking tattoos or anything, but I could tell this was a new discovery for them. Needless to say, I didn't buy any of those blouses, so we left with what we had.
I emerged from the depths of the underground market with 2 pairs of comfy jeans and a brand new genuine leatherish jacket. Not a bad day, overall. The most interesting part of my day though, was the introduction of a new character into my little story. My new niece was really something, I thought. When we went back home, I got a chance to talk to her a bit and do some background research. It turns out that her English isn't half bad afterall! She was just a bit shy at first. After seeing me strip down to my skivvies, I think the shyness shoe was on the other foot now, and she started to loosen up around me.
I found out that she is 20 years old, a film student here in Harbin, and she is a flautist. She showed me some pictures of her playing flute on her cellphone. I also learned that her father sadly passed away 5 years ago. This girl actually broke down and cried when she was talking about him. That takes guts, people. To open up emotionally like that in front of someone you've only just met a few hours ago, that takes guts. My wife and cousin consoled her with hugs, kisses and tissues, and she was back to her smiling self again a little later.
I'm glad I got to meet my niece. I see a lot of stories in her. I don't know, it's wierd to see people as characters and subject matter and all that, but I just get the feeling that this person is interesting and has a story to tell. My wife and I planned to get together with her again tomorrow, and she promised to bring her flute and play us a song.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
March 1st - Beijing in Retrospect
Now that I'm back in harbin, I guess I have a chance to look back on my little excursion to Beijing. I picked up on a couple of things while there: 1) This is a city that is rich in history and culture and; 2) Beijing is becoming more and more commercialized ever day.
After speaking with a couple of locals, the ones who could answer me, I got the feeling that Beijing is the place to go if you're looking to make a quick buck, but definitely not a place to settle down for most people. There is heavy demand in the I.T. sector here, as many U.S. and European software companies have set up offices in Beijing. So like I said, make a quick buck and get the hell out. To start with, it's very touristy. I used to feel like a Novelty Act in Harbin, being the only paleface around for miles. "Step right up, folks. Come see the abominable white man in all his pasty glory!". Here in Beijing, I see whole packs of Germans, Australians, and Americans. You can tell where they are from by their little flag carried by the tour guide up front. If you get lost in the crowded streets, just look for those Broad Stripes and Bright Stars and play follow the leader.
I mention the crowded streets, but it's more like crowded street(singular). Wangfujing Street is a pedestrian-only zone lined with gift shops, English signs and no chance of being run over. Unlike in the other streets, where a "walk" sign is just a suggestion. "Walk, if you feel lucky." At night, Wangfujing street is like a Ghost Town. We walked through at 11PM when the shops are all closed, and there were only a few perfect strangers walking around. It was a pretty tranquil way to end our day.
The next morning though, it was like someone opened the great flood gates at the salmon-spawning site. As usual, I found myself going against the grain, or in this case, against the scales? I'm fighting my way upstream and squeezing between fatso American tourists and throaty Pasisian bimbos who smell like a perfume factory exploded in their general vacinity. It was like a big human stew, with Canadian as a garnish. It really reminded me how few Canadians there are in the world. I felt unique.
Just then, I saw someone wearing a Labbat's baseball cap from behind. I wanted to get closer to see if he was a fellow Canuck, but when he turned around, I was a bit confused. The first thing that caught my eye was his huge gut. Okay, I know a few Canadians who go a little overboard with the Timmy's now and then. I used to fit that bill, actually. But then I noticed what was covering his gut, or at least trying to. He was wearing a "Harley Davidson USA" T-shirt. Either this guy is generally confused, or he's an American tourist posing as a Canadian. I've heard of them, and to be completely honest, I smelled a Yankee. I decided to avoid a confrontation during which I probably would have grilled the poor guy on Provincial Capitals and Grade 4 Social Studies. There probably are a few Canadians here, but I think we're less obvious than that.
Getting around in Beijing can either be very easy, or very mind-numbing, depending on the time of day. Since try not to get out of bed before 8:30 whilst on vacation, I haven't experienced the morning commute at its peak. When we hopped on the subway at 11AM, it was pretty relaxed. But my, how quickly things change. I heard a little joke from a local. He said: "At 5 o'clock, Beijing is the world's biggest parking lot." He's right, too. We were meeting my wife's friends for dinner one night, and it took us a 30 minute taxi ride from the subway station to the restaurant, which ironically is the same length of time it would have taken on foot, according to the nice fellow who gave us directions.
So, in my conclusion, I have found Beijing to be a city of constant change. On one hand, you have the transformation of once sacred, untouched historical sites into money-making tourist attractions; On the other, you see a constant beautification process, brought on by the pressure to keep up with the rest of the modern world, plus the Olympics coming 5 months from now. If you are afraid of change, you would probably be afraid to leave your tiny, overpriced flat in Beijing.
I'm no expert on this subject, mind you. Heck, I only spent 4 days in Beijing. I didn't even scratch the surface of all the things to see & do. These are merely my opinions based on what I saw, and the information I gathered from the locals in my brief visit. If you go to Beijing tomorrow, you'll probably have an entirely different experience from mine. One thing's for sure though - being there made me crave some quiet R&R. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Being a tourist is tiring! I think I'll retire from it for a while after this trip is over.
After speaking with a couple of locals, the ones who could answer me, I got the feeling that Beijing is the place to go if you're looking to make a quick buck, but definitely not a place to settle down for most people. There is heavy demand in the I.T. sector here, as many U.S. and European software companies have set up offices in Beijing. So like I said, make a quick buck and get the hell out. To start with, it's very touristy. I used to feel like a Novelty Act in Harbin, being the only paleface around for miles. "Step right up, folks. Come see the abominable white man in all his pasty glory!". Here in Beijing, I see whole packs of Germans, Australians, and Americans. You can tell where they are from by their little flag carried by the tour guide up front. If you get lost in the crowded streets, just look for those Broad Stripes and Bright Stars and play follow the leader.
I mention the crowded streets, but it's more like crowded street(singular). Wangfujing Street is a pedestrian-only zone lined with gift shops, English signs and no chance of being run over. Unlike in the other streets, where a "walk" sign is just a suggestion. "Walk, if you feel lucky." At night, Wangfujing street is like a Ghost Town. We walked through at 11PM when the shops are all closed, and there were only a few perfect strangers walking around. It was a pretty tranquil way to end our day.
The next morning though, it was like someone opened the great flood gates at the salmon-spawning site. As usual, I found myself going against the grain, or in this case, against the scales? I'm fighting my way upstream and squeezing between fatso American tourists and throaty Pasisian bimbos who smell like a perfume factory exploded in their general vacinity. It was like a big human stew, with Canadian as a garnish. It really reminded me how few Canadians there are in the world. I felt unique.
Just then, I saw someone wearing a Labbat's baseball cap from behind. I wanted to get closer to see if he was a fellow Canuck, but when he turned around, I was a bit confused. The first thing that caught my eye was his huge gut. Okay, I know a few Canadians who go a little overboard with the Timmy's now and then. I used to fit that bill, actually. But then I noticed what was covering his gut, or at least trying to. He was wearing a "Harley Davidson USA" T-shirt. Either this guy is generally confused, or he's an American tourist posing as a Canadian. I've heard of them, and to be completely honest, I smelled a Yankee. I decided to avoid a confrontation during which I probably would have grilled the poor guy on Provincial Capitals and Grade 4 Social Studies. There probably are a few Canadians here, but I think we're less obvious than that.
Getting around in Beijing can either be very easy, or very mind-numbing, depending on the time of day. Since try not to get out of bed before 8:30 whilst on vacation, I haven't experienced the morning commute at its peak. When we hopped on the subway at 11AM, it was pretty relaxed. But my, how quickly things change. I heard a little joke from a local. He said: "At 5 o'clock, Beijing is the world's biggest parking lot." He's right, too. We were meeting my wife's friends for dinner one night, and it took us a 30 minute taxi ride from the subway station to the restaurant, which ironically is the same length of time it would have taken on foot, according to the nice fellow who gave us directions.
So, in my conclusion, I have found Beijing to be a city of constant change. On one hand, you have the transformation of once sacred, untouched historical sites into money-making tourist attractions; On the other, you see a constant beautification process, brought on by the pressure to keep up with the rest of the modern world, plus the Olympics coming 5 months from now. If you are afraid of change, you would probably be afraid to leave your tiny, overpriced flat in Beijing.
I'm no expert on this subject, mind you. Heck, I only spent 4 days in Beijing. I didn't even scratch the surface of all the things to see & do. These are merely my opinions based on what I saw, and the information I gathered from the locals in my brief visit. If you go to Beijing tomorrow, you'll probably have an entirely different experience from mine. One thing's for sure though - being there made me crave some quiet R&R. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Being a tourist is tiring! I think I'll retire from it for a while after this trip is over.
Feb 29th - Peking & Choosing
When you go to Beijing, you have to eat duck, or so I'm told anyway. There is one restaurant that has been serving up the Beijing Peking Duck since the 1800's and boy, do they know their stuff. Since today is our last day in Beijing, and we have a train to catch tonight, we decided to just loaf around and maybe do dinner and a movie. The dinner would be duck, no doubt about it, and don't worry about the bill.
Now I'm not prepared to write a Siskel & Ebert (RIP Siskel) review of Attonement, so I'll just tell you that it was a good story, and looked like a good representation of the WWII period. There was one shot that blew my mind. After the British soldiers fought the Germans back and France was safe, the director showed the aftermath of this huge battle on the coast. This one shot must have lasted 5 minutes, and the main thing you got from it was the emotion those soldiers must have been feeling. Some were wandering around, losing their minds, lots were drunk, and every one of them looked homesick. Without a single line spoken in that sequence, I felt all those emotions.That's good cinema. But enough about the movie - it's time to eat!
This next part is not for the squeamish - or the vegetarian. I'm taking you to the Beijing Duck Restaurant, and I hope you brought your appetite. Everything here, and I do mean everything, has duck in it. "Can I have a glass of water?" "You want duck with that?" We ordered 1/2 a roast duck with scallions and flour tortillas. Again with the Chinese burritos, the filling was 100% pure mallard. I'm such a lucky duck!
A knife-wielding masked man snuck up behind me, pushing a squeaky cart that was built for one thing - transporting the carcasses of our dearly departed ducks. He sharpened up his tools and went to work. He carved and snapped and sawed away flesh from bone - the heavenly juices dripping all over his white uniform. I think the purpose of the mask was to catch his drool. My mouth was watering like a drain spout, so I can imagine what his must be doing. He plated up our meat and then BLAM! He chopped poor Daffy's head in half, right down the middle. It made a sort of twig-snapping sound. Inside was a perfect cross-section of its brain. I felt guilty for maybe 30 seconds, until the first bite hit my mouth. Who's Daffy again? Oh right, he's dinner!
After we finished our mouth-watering mallard, I felt the urge to fly ina V-line back to our hotel and sit down for a while. We collected our bags and prepared to head for the train station to begin our journey back to Harbin. We arrived at the station early. About 2 hours early, actually. We could have walked around the city some more, but it was too risky to go anywhere too far at the last minute, in case we got stuck in traffic and missed our train. So, we sat in a coffee shop and nursed a couple of drinks for 2 hours, until train Z15 was ready to roll.
I usually can't sleep on planes, trains or buses. I don't know why, I just find it difficult. Maybe it's the constant motion, or the smell of human uncleanliness, which is very common on this train. I know I showered today, can't speak for the other people on this train. it smells a bit like the animal reserve I visited in Hainan a couple of weeks ago. So, to battle the no-sleep Blues, my wife and I stayed up and played "Rock & Roll Trivia" for a bit. After we turned out the lights, I started listening to these History lectures on tape. I stayed awake until about 4AM when the battery died on my Ipod. What a feeling that was! I finished all of my candy too, so there was nothing else to do. I buried my head in my dusty pillow and closed my eyes. No snoring bunkmate this time, and no sweltering heat. I was closest to the heat control, and I had it cranked to zero. I actually managed to doze off. What a relief!
i was blasted awake with the sun burning my eyes like a poison. You know the feeling. The sun was rising outside the window directly across from my bunk, and there was no curtain to draw closed. Might as well get up. I could tell we must be getting close to Harbin now. People were shuffling around, getting their luggage sorted out and not showering. There was some sort of distorted announcement on the P.A. and the train started to slow down. I slipped my jeans on over my shorts and stood up. Wooooaaaaahhh! Guess I don't have my sae legs, or rail legs yet. I wobbled down the hallway to the bathroom and pissed all over the floor. Some wise guy decided to take a corner at the exact moment I unleashed my overnight buildup. Conductors are all such cut-ups. They were probably watching me on some hidden toilet in the bar of soap. Thanks guys!
We pulled in at harbin Station and I quickly gathered my things and headed off the train. Holy Mackeral it was cold outside! I forgot that Harbin is about 10 degrees colder than Beijing. I started jogging towards the exit. My wife said her hands were cold so I grabbed her suitcase to speed things up. "Do you have your ticket?" she asked. My ticket? What, I have to show my ticket again? With all my lack of sleep and white man confusion, I think I crumpled up my ticket and tossed it somewhere back on the train. My wife appealed to the security guard, but he said I had to run back and retrieve it, or else buy another ticket. Shit. I bolted.
Luckily, the train was still sitting there, and the guy at the door understood that I forgot something. I knew we were in car 16, so I ran to the door with a 15/16 sign above it. Shit, is this 16 or is that? The entrance is between the two cars. Did I just pass the lower numbers or the higher ones on my sprint down the landing? I knew I was in bed #7, but there was no ticket anywhere. I looked in the garbage can, on the floor, under the bed, in the ashtray. Wait a minute... I don't smoke. There are butts in this tray. I'm in the wrong car!
i ran up to the next car, bed #7 and there was my crumpled ticket, lying on the bed. I got off the train with my recovered ticket, and about 2 seconds later, the train started rolling away. Man was I ever lucky. My wife was walking toward me with the original security guard who had stopped us at the exit. She said he decided he would let me off this time if I couldn't manage to find it. "Well," I thought. "I needed the exercise anyway." It's 20 below, my lungs are burning, my teeth feel funny, and we can finally leave the train station. What a day already! And it's only 7:30. What's next?
Now I'm not prepared to write a Siskel & Ebert (RIP Siskel) review of Attonement, so I'll just tell you that it was a good story, and looked like a good representation of the WWII period. There was one shot that blew my mind. After the British soldiers fought the Germans back and France was safe, the director showed the aftermath of this huge battle on the coast. This one shot must have lasted 5 minutes, and the main thing you got from it was the emotion those soldiers must have been feeling. Some were wandering around, losing their minds, lots were drunk, and every one of them looked homesick. Without a single line spoken in that sequence, I felt all those emotions.That's good cinema. But enough about the movie - it's time to eat!
This next part is not for the squeamish - or the vegetarian. I'm taking you to the Beijing Duck Restaurant, and I hope you brought your appetite. Everything here, and I do mean everything, has duck in it. "Can I have a glass of water?" "You want duck with that?" We ordered 1/2 a roast duck with scallions and flour tortillas. Again with the Chinese burritos, the filling was 100% pure mallard. I'm such a lucky duck!
A knife-wielding masked man snuck up behind me, pushing a squeaky cart that was built for one thing - transporting the carcasses of our dearly departed ducks. He sharpened up his tools and went to work. He carved and snapped and sawed away flesh from bone - the heavenly juices dripping all over his white uniform. I think the purpose of the mask was to catch his drool. My mouth was watering like a drain spout, so I can imagine what his must be doing. He plated up our meat and then BLAM! He chopped poor Daffy's head in half, right down the middle. It made a sort of twig-snapping sound. Inside was a perfect cross-section of its brain. I felt guilty for maybe 30 seconds, until the first bite hit my mouth. Who's Daffy again? Oh right, he's dinner!
After we finished our mouth-watering mallard, I felt the urge to fly ina V-line back to our hotel and sit down for a while. We collected our bags and prepared to head for the train station to begin our journey back to Harbin. We arrived at the station early. About 2 hours early, actually. We could have walked around the city some more, but it was too risky to go anywhere too far at the last minute, in case we got stuck in traffic and missed our train. So, we sat in a coffee shop and nursed a couple of drinks for 2 hours, until train Z15 was ready to roll.
I usually can't sleep on planes, trains or buses. I don't know why, I just find it difficult. Maybe it's the constant motion, or the smell of human uncleanliness, which is very common on this train. I know I showered today, can't speak for the other people on this train. it smells a bit like the animal reserve I visited in Hainan a couple of weeks ago. So, to battle the no-sleep Blues, my wife and I stayed up and played "Rock & Roll Trivia" for a bit. After we turned out the lights, I started listening to these History lectures on tape. I stayed awake until about 4AM when the battery died on my Ipod. What a feeling that was! I finished all of my candy too, so there was nothing else to do. I buried my head in my dusty pillow and closed my eyes. No snoring bunkmate this time, and no sweltering heat. I was closest to the heat control, and I had it cranked to zero. I actually managed to doze off. What a relief!
i was blasted awake with the sun burning my eyes like a poison. You know the feeling. The sun was rising outside the window directly across from my bunk, and there was no curtain to draw closed. Might as well get up. I could tell we must be getting close to Harbin now. People were shuffling around, getting their luggage sorted out and not showering. There was some sort of distorted announcement on the P.A. and the train started to slow down. I slipped my jeans on over my shorts and stood up. Wooooaaaaahhh! Guess I don't have my sae legs, or rail legs yet. I wobbled down the hallway to the bathroom and pissed all over the floor. Some wise guy decided to take a corner at the exact moment I unleashed my overnight buildup. Conductors are all such cut-ups. They were probably watching me on some hidden toilet in the bar of soap. Thanks guys!
We pulled in at harbin Station and I quickly gathered my things and headed off the train. Holy Mackeral it was cold outside! I forgot that Harbin is about 10 degrees colder than Beijing. I started jogging towards the exit. My wife said her hands were cold so I grabbed her suitcase to speed things up. "Do you have your ticket?" she asked. My ticket? What, I have to show my ticket again? With all my lack of sleep and white man confusion, I think I crumpled up my ticket and tossed it somewhere back on the train. My wife appealed to the security guard, but he said I had to run back and retrieve it, or else buy another ticket. Shit. I bolted.
Luckily, the train was still sitting there, and the guy at the door understood that I forgot something. I knew we were in car 16, so I ran to the door with a 15/16 sign above it. Shit, is this 16 or is that? The entrance is between the two cars. Did I just pass the lower numbers or the higher ones on my sprint down the landing? I knew I was in bed #7, but there was no ticket anywhere. I looked in the garbage can, on the floor, under the bed, in the ashtray. Wait a minute... I don't smoke. There are butts in this tray. I'm in the wrong car!
i ran up to the next car, bed #7 and there was my crumpled ticket, lying on the bed. I got off the train with my recovered ticket, and about 2 seconds later, the train started rolling away. Man was I ever lucky. My wife was walking toward me with the original security guard who had stopped us at the exit. She said he decided he would let me off this time if I couldn't manage to find it. "Well," I thought. "I needed the exercise anyway." It's 20 below, my lungs are burning, my teeth feel funny, and we can finally leave the train station. What a day already! And it's only 7:30. What's next?
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