Metro ink

Aug 28th

Nanjing

When I think about my reasons for brazenly rejecting an escort from Shanghai’s international airport to my new residence in Nanjing, they don’t seem so sound anymore. At least, that was the repentant notion that I adopted after spending the better part of 24 hours in airports, train stations, or some other vestibule that was designed to shuttle me toward my eventual terminus. Just like the wind; Traveling blows!
So, in the grand scheme of things, I’ve become more resigned to follow through on my goal of only taking 2 very selective holidays during this new chapter of China. I should save myself a bunch of grief and a little bit of money as well.
During one of my constant train rides from the last day or so, I was a passenger aboard a comprehensive and state of the art metro system. This metro system belonged to Shanghai, and brother it’s something. It’s clean; it’s timely; it’s quiet and comfortable. In short, it may very well be the antithesis of Chicago’s beleaguered public transit system. Not to downplay the inherent charm of my hometown’s bucket of bolts CTA, but it doesn’t really measure up to the standards being set by modern transit systems all across the world.
On Shanghai’s metro, I spotted a young Chinese man amidst the commuters. He was outfitted in (what I imagine to be) contemporary 21st century fashionable urban garb; and he also sported a tattoo on his left forearm. What caught my eye in this particular young man’s appearance was not the style of his clothing, nor was it his physical demeanor (he seemed adequately sedate among the other doleful passengers). Rather what caused my eyes to linger on him a bit longer than the other myriad distractions was this forearm tattoo. It was written in English. It read “Love You” and it was written in a looping, lazy script. The two words were so close together that it looked more like LoveYou—one word. I can’t fathom the intentions and motivations of this young man when he got that ink seared into the flesh of his lower left forearm. I couldn’t help but think of every hapless person that deems it necessary to get some obscure Chinese character emblazoned onto his or her hide. Most often these people make the choice based on aesthetics alone because, quite frankly, they have no idea what their choice in Chinese characters actually means.

Dragonfly Island, or Liandao

Note: this is an archive piece retrieved from my last days in Lianyungang
June 21st

Yesterday a Chinese friend and I went to Xugou in order to soak up some rays on the beach. I should make it clear that I was the only one interested in a) exposure to the sun and b) contact with the water. Generally those are two elements akin to Kryptonite where the Chinese are concerned…those and sitting on dirty surfaces.
The beach we went to was located on Liandao Island. Liandao is a remote offshoot of the Xugou seashore. It offers fantastic vistas and an escape from the perpetual smog of the mainland. There were an inordinate amount of dragonflies buzzing about that afternoon—which has moved me to dub Liandao “Dragonfly Island” for future references.
Swimming in some waters off Dragonfly Island can be hazardous. Not due to any natural peril, because after all the beaches are quite serene in their own right. Dangers arise in the form of manmade devices. The very same cove at Sumawan Beach that is ideal for bathers/swimmers is used to give thrill rides on assorted watercrafts. Jetskis and motorboats are zipping about and crashing through the swimmers’ area at an almost constant rate. The jackassery and swashbuckling attitude of the jetski dudes is especially irritating and perilous. They’ll zip through a crowd of swimmers without a second thought as to who they may crush asunder or leave crippled from the neck down.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s a beautiful beach in an absolutely fantastic setting. But swimmers beware! At any moment you could be mowed down or left in the wake of some reckless jock that’s showboating for the couple of ladies on the shore.

Tracking the wind, I'm chasing the gale

It goes without saying that people the world over have their own foibles and funny habits. I've noticed that Chinese people are in no short supply of idiosyncracies. For instance, Chinese people really enjoy walking backwards.
Whenever I'm taking a much-needed respite in the wide open landscape of Lianyungang, I can peek a single Chinese person or in some cases a pair of Chinese persons walking backwards. I thought it peculiar at first, no question. Then I thought that maybe I could relate this odd sight to some extreme weather conditions. Say for example if the wind was blowing up a heavy gale and one wanted to shield their facial orifices from the onslaught of air. But there seems to be no excuse for walking backwards on a perfectly nice, calm and sunny day. I've been told that the Chinese believe the backward walking is good for health. Hm.
I went for a run the other night at the university's track. It was late, maybe around 10:30 or so. I expected to see a few couples sitting on the soccer field in tender moonlit embraces, but I was not prepared for the mob of people that I came across. Did I mention that this was a Friday night? Well, it most certainly was past 10 pm on a Friday (I had my own reasons for engaging in rigorous cardio at this hour) and I think I nearly stumbled over half the student body on the track and adjoining playground. I thought to myself: this is what college would be like if teetotalism was more popular than the current exploits that are in vogue on western campuses. And of course, many of the people on the track got a glimpse of my face, flush from the effort of running, as I lapped them. These were the people walking around the track in reverse. Perhaps they thought I was some kind of monster apparition of the night.

The Watcher

Being a movie-lover can be maddening and blissful here in China. DVDs are so handily obtained, but at the same time a game of roulette takes place: will the film quality be a shoddy substitute or have I got my hands on the real deal? It can be exhilarating. To purchase movies with the mystery of authenticity looming gives the blind spender a surge of adrenaline; and beyond that there’s a carefree blissfulness to the whole affair.
Upon entering my favorite local DVD shop (which I visit at least once a week without fail), I anticipate walking out with at least one new movie in hand. In comparison to the rental craze that fixates most American viewers, the rate of purchasing here must seem rapid and even a little irresponsible.
Take into account the relative price of a new movie out here (9 RMB for a quality copy, 5-6 RMB for a mediocre transfer, and you can even get entire TV series or collections of films for a nominal fee), and it really doesn’t amount to much more than keeping up with your weekly or bi-weekly movie rentals back home. And let’s not even address the gauging that occurs at the cinemas back home (although I’ve always maintained that visiting a theater is an experience altogether worthy of a higher price—but $10 per go is really going too far isn’t it?).
I anticipate returning home with at least 5 kg of added bulk from DVDs alone. And, for the record, I haven’t been completely footloose or numbskulled when buying these cheap little treasures. I generally select films of good caliber that retain at least some replay value. So in that way, I’m really stocking up for good and all…until another format comes along and blows away the fragile and gleaming discs that I covet so ferociously. In vain, let me offer my plea to the unrelenting wheel of technology to stop, or at least pause graciously, so as to allow me ample time to take in all the movies my heart desires.

What makes these gardens grow? Part II

Inside the Humble Administrator's Garden, one can be fooled into thinking that heaven had touched down to earth in this precise location. This sprawling garden occupies 5 hectares. There are ample vistas to intoxicate the senses, there are numerous pavillions to offer shade and pleasant views, and there are oversized goldfish meandering about in the miniature lakes. There is literally poetry everywhere in this garden. A poem will be written onto the pillar of a pavillion, and somehow these displays are utterly tasteful and not obtrusive in the least. Perhaps I--being a foreigner--can gloss over these poems with ease due to my illiteracy in Chinese characters. But for native speakers, they must afford an additional source of inspiration in this eden-esque garden.

I said that this oversized garden was heavenly in character, but then there are the crowds. The Humble Administrator's Garden is the largest and most spectacular garden in all of Suzhou, so it always draws a crowd. And a substantial crowd at that. The highest concentration of foreigners I've encountered since Beijing was in Suzhou, mostly within the walls of this fantastic garden. It is true that people come from all over the world to see this garden. And for me, this only reaffirms the notion that the greenest thumbs on earth are often yellow.

What makes these gardens grow? Part I

Suzhou is a city that is renowned for it's gardens. There are various gardens to visit, nearly every one of them offering magnificent scenery and endless pleasant perspectives. So many impressive gardens can be found here that, by comparison, the so-called "Garden State" of New Jersey is made to look even worse; needless to say the film Garden State is still a piece of crap.

Anyway, Suzhou was the latest city in Jiangsu Province that I visited. I arrived by way of Wuxi--the city dubbed "Little Shanghai," although only the "Little" portion of this moniker is appropriate. I took a fast train to reach Suzhou. This train from Wuxi put me in Suzhou in a mere twenty minutes. The same train is capable of running from Nanjing to Shanghai in just one hour. I'm considering this train route as a possible grand finale tour of southern Jiangsu Province (Nanjing-Wuxi-Suzhou-Shanghai-United States).

Focusing on Suzhou now, the place is also quite famous for canals. In fact, the canals are so prevelant that any walking, driving, cycling, or rickshaw route must accomodate for the numerous bridges and waterways. The canals are so much a part of daily life that they can even prove to be the ultimate end of one's life. I draw on example here, for my friends Colm and Rachael had arrived in Suzhou one night ahead of me and they saw a grim sight in one of the canals upon arrival. They had just finished booking accomodations in a hostel in old Suzhou when they came across a crowd gathered by a nearby canal. They followed the curious eyes of the crowd to see a boat in the canal, and the drivers of the boat were in the process of pulling up a body from the water. I don't want to begin to speculate on the morbid circumstances of this unfortunate fellow's demise, but there are numerous ways to end up in one of the canals. The bridges are so many and the safety measures so few that any careless individual could easily lose their footing and fall into the water.

Casual leave of absence

This one comes direct from a student in one of my business english classes. Enjoy.

Dear Teacher:
I would like to know if I can ask for a casual leave of absence for the classes. Because I have a stomach. So I want you can permit it. Thank you very much!

Your student: Angela
April 3rd 2009

Future Captains of Industry, or leaders of the not-so-free world

I believe it's time to share the titles of the faux companies I've formulated in my "business english" courses. I've waited long enough, there's no excuse for denying you readers any longer. Here are some of my favorites:

Funzo Toy Company

Cyberdyne Computer Systems

Metropolis Clothing Ltd.

Flash Mobile Corporation

Bullitt Car Dealership

SOMA Pharmaceutical Group

Madison Hotels

Eldorado Travel Agency

Mercury Mobile

Zaphod Toy Co.

Skynet Computers

Red River Real Estate

Note: I used to seriously lament teaching this business english course. It involves a lugubrious commute from the main campus to a satellite campus of less-than-stellar students. Lo and behold these students aren't even english majors; rather, they study a subject which is entirely different but somehow one or two english language courses are compulsory for their degree. That's where I enter the picture.

In making the course (which I teach four times a week) tolerable, the names were the least I could do. This faux company premise for the course was also a measure to put responsibility on the students' shoulders. They run their own companies, in theory, and I must evaluate their progress over the course of sixteen weeks. Many of the groups tried to submit their own chinglish names for the company, but I vetoed this effort. There is no doubt that my cheeky efforts at pop culture and sci-fi references are lost on these students, but I can at least hope that one day a student may feel compelled to use google and discover the meaning behind their seemingly abstract company name.

If you go carryin' pictures of Chairman Mao...

Sometimes I think it might be fun to have a Party membership. I am referring to the one and only Party here in the land of Great Walls, Great food and Great (read: massive amounts of) people: the People's Communist party.

Allow me to illustrate my latest infatuation with this bureaucratic privilege. Last weekend my friend and colleague Colm was invited by a Chinese friend to a meal. He eagerly accepted the invitation because this friend of his owns a drum shop in town and is generous in allowing Colm time to bang the drums all day (when the spirit moves him). Colm probably believed that, by accepting this invitation to a meal, eventually he could have a drum session later on; but the following series of events didn't conform to this modest expectation.

Soon enough, Colm was spirited away to the neighboring province.

It began with Colm's drummer friend introducing him to his cousin, or brother, or in-law, or something of the sort. As it turns out, this relation of the drummer man was a certified Party member and his spouse was even a policewoman. Colm was a bit skeptical until he was shown the badge to back it up. Party members are given considerable privilege. Take for example the conduct on the roadways out here in China. Not that there are many rules to begin with, but those who can flash a fancy laminated ID proving their affiliation to Beijing can further ignore the scant rules of the road. This means taking liberties behind the wheel that no sensible, educated, or cautious western driver would ever conceive. When someone raises a fuss, the ID is produced and all concerns are assuaged. The odious conduct of the Party member behind the wheel is instead greeted with smiles and cheery waves.

After a time in the backseat of such a raucous road trip to the province just North of Jiangsu, Colm arrived at a gig with his new friends. He had a chance to bang out a few tunes, it was bliss. But night had already descended and Colm still hadn't eaten anything, and he was in another province altogether. Of course he didn't have to worry, because his new Party-affiliated chums briskly walked into a five star hotel with Colm in tow and told the front desk what was what. Colm was put up—free of charge—in a luxurious suite for the night and there were no questions asked; no bills to be settled; nary an eyebrow was raised in protest.

I'm taking some liberties in imagining the swift manner with which this bureaucratic bigwig handled all these hurdles. But that's half the fun anyhow.

Everybody's talkin' at me...

2/28/09
LianYunGang


I've got another advertisement in the works. And, like my would-be commercial for TsingTao Beer, this ad is specifically geared for audiences in China. Even more specifically, it is designed for audiences here in LYG.
Any foreigner who sets foot in China for more than ten minutes is bound to be harangued by incessant catcalls of "Hello!" everywhere that they go. English speakers tend to reserve this word for greetings or hilarious exclamations (like "Hello Doctor!"). But for a lot of Chinese people this single word encompasses the whole of their English vocabulary, so they like to use it whenever a foreigner is in sight. You'll hear it a lot over here, often enough that you just tend to ignore it after a while.

I had been thinking that the general population could benefit from a new, exciting catchphrase to holler at any foreigners that they see. Is this an effort to reclaim the traditional and ubiquitous greeting of Western culture? Is this a heroic campaign to save 'Hello' from overuse? Maybe yes, maybe no, maybe I just have too much free time on my hands.

Anyway, the efficacy of such a revolutionary new phrase was demonstrated to me in class this past week. Half of my students don't know my name or can't pronounce it, so often times I'm referred to as 'Teacher' in the classroom. This is okay; I don't mind it really. But because I don't readily identify with the title, I sometimes fail to hear students' beckoning in the classroom. Whether my students think of me as deaf or aloof, I'm not quite sure. But I am sure that a jarring—yet familiar—address won't fail to get my attention. I was monitoring some in-class activities on Friday and all of a sudden I heard someone say, "Hey man!" I whirled round to see one of my students looking in my direction. She was wearing a slight grin, knowing that her abrupt and casual utterance had definitely caught my ear.

This is a pretty handy example of a catchphrase with potential out here. But I was hoping for something new, something fresh. I've been out of the loop back home for 6 months now. What are people saying to each other? Is 'What's up' still in vogue? Feel free to leave any comments that you think might help guide me to that one brilliant phrase. The sooner your suggestions come in the better, because I'm trying to come up with a script for the commercial by next weekend.

NOTE: I would like to dedicate this post to my grandfather, Ken, who turned 79 this week. Best wishes Ken and Happy Birthday!

Rolling Thunder, Memory Lane

2/21/09

LianYunGang

I went bowling last night. Prior to last night, I can't recall the last time I rolled. I've got some vague ideas as to where I might have bowled last, but the outcome of the game escapes me. Whatever the results may have been in bygone bowling matches, last night's results will serve as a pleasant benchmark for games to come. I managed—perhaps for the first time in my bowling career—to place first in two consecutive games. Given the international company assembled for last night's ceremonious rolling, I suppose I could call myself the reigning international champion at the HuaiHai Institute of Technology. Perhaps the next step is to survey all the Chinese teachers here and see if they can present a suitable challenge to the throne.
Needless to say, my bowling prospects here in China are shaping out much better than my basketball hopes, or hoop dreams.

Interestingly enough, I believe my last visit to a bowling alley was in Iowa City—the one and only Colonial Lanes. The indelible charms of Iowa have become much more than a memory now. With the start of a new term here at the university a new foreign teacher has arrived: direct from Dubuque, Iowa. And sure enough, she is a fellow Hawkeye. As if it isn't coincidence enough that a fellow alumnus has strolled in from the wintry fields of the Hawkeye state, can you guess what her major was? You might have guessed that she was an English major, much the same as I was. If this was in fact your guess, congratulations, you were right. How fortunate these Chinese students are! They now have two wordsmiths from the storied University of Iowa to dole out tasty nuggets from a collective braintrust and infuse their eager minds with a sample of world-class education. Because what are we Hawkeyes if not world-class? The proof is here in this city and many others across the globe.

Cities & the Sky

Picture yourself in the urban canopy jungle. You are lost in the great concrete reef. You're drowning in the ocean of asphalt. This is transit. This is Shanghai.

Picture the sky in numerous lanes, divided judiciously amongst the taxis, coaches and coupes. Picture the orderly march of axles 200 ft in the air. Can you hear the rubber rolling along, at 50 km/h, over your head? If you can, you're a native of Shanghai.

The true Skyway is here. A massive engineering marvel, Shanghai's ‘High Road’ is the epitome of unsightly urbanization. To relieve traffic problems, the city decided to build itself a bypass above the ground. The bypass is dramatically thrust into the sky. The High Road of Shanghai exists in the lower atmosphere of our planet, no doubt about that; but it dominates the celestial heaven of a local's imagination.

Seen from above, Shanghai must look like the grey mausoleum of some huge octopus. The High Road snakes throughout the metropolis, coiling and bunching like so many tentacles. The High Road casts the underdwellers in shadow, thereby reserving the privilege of direct sunlight for motorists.

Shanghai Nights

During the TaiPing Rebellion, ca. the 1860s, there was one infamous foreign commander among the ranks of the Qing Dynasty's Imperial Army. His name was Ward, and he was such a capable fighter and officer that many of his contemporaries say that he would've made a fine General during the American Civil War. The only thing that prevented his possible ascension through the American military machine was the fact that he was in China during America's war.
Instead of fighting in the States, Ward was commanding a ragtag group of rowdy foreigners—mercenaries is the appropriate term, half of them too drunk to fight on any given day—during one of Imperial China's civil wars. The ones that could stand and fight for the unpopular Qing government were paid handsomely. Ward would recruit the roughnecks for the foreign fighting legion from the seediest locales in Shanghai, frequently picking up unruly characters from the docks or the brothels.
In this current era that discourages the virtues of brazen recklessness, thirst for adventure, and appetite for destruction, Ward would find himself out of place. Even Ward's former base of operations, Shanghai, is a very different place in the world of today. Shanghai is commercial as they come, the principle industry being commerce. And, given the amount of consumers in Shanghai, business is good. This is civilization at its utmost, isn't it? Mmm, not quite right. Perhaps it fails to capture the most idyllic goals of humanity. What then can be said of this lifestyle in Shanghai? Life stretched to the max? Certainly. This awesome scale is one of the most distinguishing characteristics of Shanghai.

One can still find the sort of characters that would've been willing volunteers in Ward's rough-and-tumble regiments though. But, to contrast the darker nature of this city of transients, there is also a posh side to this urban populous. There is a passivity as well. I might even go so far as to say there is an apolitical, anonymous, and apathetic feeling to this city.

Albeit, on a man's worst night in modern Shanghai he can envision himself cut out for Ward's crew. He is able to immerse himself so deeply in depravity and apathy that risking life and limb for an unpopular imperial regime seems like a good scheme. It's a shot at respectability even. Ah, we're a far cry from the days of fortune and glory, that's for certain. But villains abound nonetheless.

Cities & Memory

"When a man rides a long time through wild regions he feels the desire for a city."
-Invisible Cities, Italo Calvino

Nanjing is cool and it has been for a really long time. Intermittently the site of the capitol during the last seven hundred years, Nanjing exists today as a cultural and historical epicenter for all of China. One of the few cities around where a visitor can tour ancient tombs; wander aimlessly through luscious natural parks and botanic gardens; gain knowledge at state-of-the-art museums; see bands perform in all languages in the lively nightclub district; drop by some of the best universities in China and mingle with the students who are eager to sharpen their English skills, not to mention peruse the foreign book stores and many coffee shops; spend money at high-end stores or the local trinket shops. It's all happening in Nanjing.

In older times Nanjing established itself as a magnet for intellectuals. They would flock to this city to pass tests of higher learning. It remains the terminus for academic pilgrims (of Chinese background) due to the prestigious national exams that are still administered in Nanjing. The purposes of my visit were solely aimed towards escaping the academic world.

I chose Nanjing as the destination for my self-appointed vacation. Little did I know that a legitimate holiday period was declared for the whole faculty shortly after I left my university. Nonetheless, after exams were over and all my paperwork was turned in I felt that I was owed some personal time. So personal time I took!

Nanjing, as mentioned before, is really cool. And conveniently enough, it's located just four hours south of my city. This made the preparation significantly easier and I already felt familiar with this city, to some degree, because all the students, insofar as they're able, remark about their trips to Nanjing in either praising or depressing tones (mind you they wind up there more for exams than holiday). But no self-respecting person in Nanjing—no matter how brief their stay—will neglect a visit to at least one of the many attractive lights in this chandelier city.

I rented a bicycle on my second day to allow for flexibility and freedom of movement. I had become wary of the public transportation system after the first twenty-four hours (constantly waiting for buses, trains and taxis is no fun). After politely asking one of the staff members at the hostel, “where might I rent a bicycle?” they gestured towards a bike that was nestled in the cobwebs underneath the stairwell. For a small fee, I'd have the privilege of dusting off this master of the road, this rickety and rusty cruiser, and pedaling off into the crisp January air. I hesitated at first. Then I began to wonder how easy it would be to find another bicycle rental business open in January. Needless to say, I didn't waste time pursuing alternative means of bike rental, for I had much to see.

After planning a route that would take me to some irresistible destinations, I set off. About two minutes into my ride, I quickly became savvy to the challenges inherent to traversing this bustling capitol city via bicycle. Crossing the modest city of LianYunGang by bike seems like a tricycle ride up and down your driveway in comparison with Nanjing. It was a white-knuckle thrill ride; it was hair-raising; it could be called eyeball-peeling; at times it was throw-your-head-back-and-laugh-like-a-madman fun!

So that was the ebb and flow of it. Ride around; walk around; get lost; take photos. That was the story, for the first forty-eight hours anyway.

Weather Report

There have been some mildly interesting weather phenomena while I've been living here in China. I've already expounded upon the mildness of the winter (a conclusion that I admit now was a bit premature), but there is something else interesting about the air over (t)here. Photographic evidence has been accruing steadily. There is a pattern emerging. It seems each time I travel throughout China, I'm accompanied by a heavy layer of fog. Whether the fog and I are along for the same ride or merely crossing paths is still undetermined. But there is a noticeable trend of my arrival in any new city here in China (and this includes my first setting foot in this country, in Shanghai) coinciding with the arrival of a dense fog. And what's more remarkable is that each time I leave a city, I'm chased out of town by blue skies. Such was the case in Nanjing.

When I arrived it was in the pissings of rain; not an ideal atmosphere for bitter-cold January. The next three days passed with little sunshine and even less visibility. For all I knew, Nanjing's skyline could have been as modest and underwhelming as the profile of my home base, LianYunGang. But sure enough, when I left town on Saturday morning, I could see for miles in each direction the winking faces of the steel and glass monoliths that populate Nanjing. Nanjing is as modern and high-tech as they come, but you're still able to find the pleasant touch of nature.

I spent a whole day getting lost around the hillocks and valleys of the Purple Mountain. And this natural preserve is a mere twenty minutes out of town by bike. Along with the city's friendly and green-thumbed neighbor, the streets of Nanjing are amiable and open. I've made brief mention of the diversity that can be found throughout the city, but that list didn't account for the hidden treasures. Nanjing is home to the only authentic Mexican restaurant I've seen in China. Now I haven't been everywhere, but I'm pretty comfortable in saying that a real Mexican place, complete with live guitar, plucking out the cascading and racing notes of latin music, is in very short supply in China. Yes, the excellent guitar can play a game of pick-up soccer with your ears, and in the meantime you can enjoy the most pleasant un-invited dinner guest, the plucky chocolate lab that comes by to collect the leftovers.

Not in the mood for a margarita with your burrito? Then why not catch a taxi over to Finnegan's Wake, an authentic Irish pub and also the best place for good craic in Nanjing. Choose one of the forty different blends of Scotch or go with the standard Guinness. Either way, you can't lose.

300,000

300,000. The estimated total number of casualties from the Japanese invasion of Nanjing. Among that number not only the soldiers are counted, but the innocent as well. The invaders took depravity to a whole new level; they invented new kinds of wickedness. The Nanjing Massacre Museum was one of my first stops in the city. In tandem with the overcast weather, the visit cast a pall over the trip. As much as anyone could linger on the astonishing and agonizing past of Nanjing, circa the winter of 1937-38, the winter of Nan-King's discontent, I found instead a new feeling. After the overwhelming story of the massacre, I was inspired by how the city of Nanjing is very much alive today. The city has taken great measures to preserve the memory of the crime that befell it, and rightly it should. But you needn't go far beyond the gray slate walls of the memorial to see a city bathed in ethereal glow; a place resonating with life.