After spending four months agonizing over how I would return to Beijing, I returned. Then, after spending less than two weeks there, I left.
The following series of events is important to understanding why:
I arrived at Peking Airport on 1 February. I was taken to a temporary apartment for foreign teachers.
On 3 February I met Mike, an American headed to a teaching position in Inner Mongolia's capital city of Hohhot. He arrived at the apartment while a plumber was unclogging* the toilet I clogged. After the plumber left, Mike & I went to the Tun Bar's open mic night with a Chinese kid named Leo who I had been set up on a date with the night before.
On 4 February, another American who would be joining Mike in Hohhot arrived at the apartment. Rebecca decided that he wouldn't be right for the job and sent him away, which is interesting because he had just come all the way from America for this particular job. Still, Mike and a German would be going for the job and one spot now needed filled.
On 5 February I went to meet the people at the school in Haidian where I would be teaching. They assumed I had no teaching experience, but Rebecca told them that I did. She even furnished completely fabricated documents. Then she took me to look at an apartment a stray dog wouldn't even want to live in. There's not enough Lysol or rust remover in the world to make that place suitable for human living. After the fake documents and the beyond-belief funktown apartment, I decided to fill the now-vacant spot in the Hohhot job team.
On 8 February I went to an Ancient Observatory in Beijing. It was built by Chinese Jesuits and was absolutely wonderful. I listened to "Pet Sounds" and took lots of pictures. Later, I met Chris for an epic KTV session that was long overdue. I was introduced to ErGuoTou--a Chinese liquor that smells like nail polish remover, tastes like fire, and is far more devilish than any baijiu.
On 9 February, Mike and I learned that the job in Hohhot was cancelled. The school is run by an educational technology company who hadn't finished developing everything for the school. For more details on this particular evening, please refer to my first (and only other) blog post.
On 10 and 11 February I shot resumes for teaching jobs out like rapid fire.
On 12 February Rebecca found us another job in Inner Mongolia's Hulun Beier area. That night Mike and I enjoyed a pretty delicious good-bye meal with Chris, Tabea, Guo Wei, and Mikael. The highlight of the evening wasn't the food, though. The highlight was Guo Wei flirting with the waitress and then shout-whispering, "I'm being charming."
On 13 February we met Spring, her assistant Jeannie, and her nephew Alfred. Spring and Jeannie would take us to Hohhot for teachers' training, then we would be shipped off to the grasslands of Hulun Beier.
On 14 February Spring, Jeannie, Mike and I boarded an overnight train to Hohhot. Both of my parents wished me a happy Valentine's day.
It should be noted that while in Beijing I also had the distinct pleasures of buying cheese and having lunch with the always delightful, always Swedish Mikael Salomonsson. Mike and I set off fireworks with Guo Wei. I ate loads of bangin' souda jaozi (vegetable dumplings), street vendor omelet pancakes, and, of course, Uigher noodles. I slept under a blanket with porpoises on it.
Beijing was as great as I remember it; although, definitely more polluted. I don't feel bad for leaving because it's been there for hundreds of years, I'm sure it will be there for another six or eight months.
Now, Mike and I are living about 30km from Russia in Eerguna, a district in Inner Mongolia's Hulun Beier region. How I got from Hohhot to Eerguna isn't as good without photos; I'll have those soon. I've embarked on a great adventure I didn't expect, but certainly craved.
*By "unclogging," I mean the plumber brought a plunger and charged the owner of the apartment 20RMB, which I paid.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
CHINA: The Greatest Show on Earth
As most of you have probably heard, a portion of the China Central Television (CCTV) tower complex caught fire on Monday evening. Amidst the chaos of thousands of miniature sticks of dynamite cracking and fireworks that US cities would use in Fourth of July celebrations, one of Beijing's premier architectural showpieces smouldered and smoked into the early morning.
And, honestly, no one should be surprised. For the past week that I've been in town, I've had what sounds like a twenty-one (or thousand-and-one) gun salute daily wake-up call; though, it's really just string after string of red poppers. From morning to mid-day and well into the night, the Chinese love of firecrackers is apparent.
Even more apparent, is the lack of regulation. Last Friday night, Guo Wei (my Chinese friend), Mike (my American colleague), and I bought six sticks of explosives. We gave one to a couple neighborhood kids. The other five? We set them off over a particularly rank-smelling stretch of Beijing public water flow. The fire shot across the ravine, almost into traffic. Beers (pijiu) in hand, the Americans got nervous when the police rolled up with their lights flashing. Guo Wei, however, reached for another explosive and the lighter.
Most of these explosions are just for the noise, no color, no fire. Like I said, it sounds like guns forever firing all over the city.
Still, for the final night of New Year celebrations, I expected more.
Monday evening, Mike and I walked around the Gongti and Sanlitun areas, doing some fun-hunting. I bought a paper lantern and set it off from a bridge between the Workers' Stadium and the Workers' Gymnasium, where I had worked during the Olympic Games.
After watching the lantern float out of sight, I said, "I just want something to happen." Then, we noticed two vans pulling into the parking lot of the Workers' Stadium. Six men unloaded at least fifty giant boxes, got out their lighters, and the show began.
Let me explain something that's very important: the Chinese love their inventions more than anything (noodles and umbrellas, anyone?). And the Chinese invented fireworks.
Once the guys at the Workers' Stadium started their show, I stood in mouth-gaping awe of a seemingly impromptu show that rivals nearly every Fourth of July spectacular I've seen in America. (Moreover, I doubt the Boston Pops would condescend to accompany such a spectacle.)
I got my bearings, finally, and looked around. Every direction played host to a similar scene: giant green umbrellas of fire, spirally white shooters, haphazard red crackly explosions. The smell of sulphur and burnt paper permeated the air so dense with smoke I couldn't see to cross the street.
We watched for nearly two hours before we decided to take a break at the Rickshaw. We grabbed some fries and wrote our name on the pool table waiting list.
Our turn came and we met Kim, a diplomat with the Algerian Embassy. We played a few games with him and he introduced us to some of the establishment's regulars. Kim was driving home in our direction and offered to give us a ride, we accepted and left.
When I asked why his car was parked facing the wrong way, he said , "You know, sometimes the police, they don't like us, because the diplomatic plates mean they can't stop us."
He barely finished his sentence before his American friend ran up to us on the street, yelling "The CCTV building is on fire! Want to check it out?" And, of course, we did.
Piled in Kim's Algerian government-issued 1980s era Mercedes-Benz, we rushed to the scene, blaring the likes of Clapton and Dire Straits, driving in the bike lane or in the wrong lane altogether.
The traffic thinned considerably as many roads around the CCTV complex were closed. As with everything else in China, as long as you look like you're supposed to be doing whatever you're trying to do, no one with stop you. And even if they try to stop you, they can't if you just keep doing it.
So we kept going: we drove the car with diplomatic plates and Cheshire Cat grins through blocked off roads and lines of police tape until we were directly across the street from the fiery tower. We parked, got out, and, along with hundreds of nearby residents and hotel guests, we took photos and watched the tower smoulder.
Still, with the ultimate fire-works show in progress at CCTV, just down the green swirleys and red poppers were ignited.
Not until the next day was it revealed that illegal fireworks were to blame for the fire. I think only ones that destroy multi-billion yuan buildings fall into that category.
And, honestly, no one should be surprised. For the past week that I've been in town, I've had what sounds like a twenty-one (or thousand-and-one) gun salute daily wake-up call; though, it's really just string after string of red poppers. From morning to mid-day and well into the night, the Chinese love of firecrackers is apparent.
Even more apparent, is the lack of regulation. Last Friday night, Guo Wei (my Chinese friend), Mike (my American colleague), and I bought six sticks of explosives. We gave one to a couple neighborhood kids. The other five? We set them off over a particularly rank-smelling stretch of Beijing public water flow. The fire shot across the ravine, almost into traffic. Beers (pijiu) in hand, the Americans got nervous when the police rolled up with their lights flashing. Guo Wei, however, reached for another explosive and the lighter.
Most of these explosions are just for the noise, no color, no fire. Like I said, it sounds like guns forever firing all over the city.
Still, for the final night of New Year celebrations, I expected more.
Monday evening, Mike and I walked around the Gongti and Sanlitun areas, doing some fun-hunting. I bought a paper lantern and set it off from a bridge between the Workers' Stadium and the Workers' Gymnasium, where I had worked during the Olympic Games.
After watching the lantern float out of sight, I said, "I just want something to happen." Then, we noticed two vans pulling into the parking lot of the Workers' Stadium. Six men unloaded at least fifty giant boxes, got out their lighters, and the show began.
Let me explain something that's very important: the Chinese love their inventions more than anything (noodles and umbrellas, anyone?). And the Chinese invented fireworks.
Once the guys at the Workers' Stadium started their show, I stood in mouth-gaping awe of a seemingly impromptu show that rivals nearly every Fourth of July spectacular I've seen in America. (Moreover, I doubt the Boston Pops would condescend to accompany such a spectacle.)
I got my bearings, finally, and looked around. Every direction played host to a similar scene: giant green umbrellas of fire, spirally white shooters, haphazard red crackly explosions. The smell of sulphur and burnt paper permeated the air so dense with smoke I couldn't see to cross the street.
We watched for nearly two hours before we decided to take a break at the Rickshaw. We grabbed some fries and wrote our name on the pool table waiting list.
Our turn came and we met Kim, a diplomat with the Algerian Embassy. We played a few games with him and he introduced us to some of the establishment's regulars. Kim was driving home in our direction and offered to give us a ride, we accepted and left.
When I asked why his car was parked facing the wrong way, he said , "You know, sometimes the police, they don't like us, because the diplomatic plates mean they can't stop us."
He barely finished his sentence before his American friend ran up to us on the street, yelling "The CCTV building is on fire! Want to check it out?" And, of course, we did.
Piled in Kim's Algerian government-issued 1980s era Mercedes-Benz, we rushed to the scene, blaring the likes of Clapton and Dire Straits, driving in the bike lane or in the wrong lane altogether.
The traffic thinned considerably as many roads around the CCTV complex were closed. As with everything else in China, as long as you look like you're supposed to be doing whatever you're trying to do, no one with stop you. And even if they try to stop you, they can't if you just keep doing it.
So we kept going: we drove the car with diplomatic plates and Cheshire Cat grins through blocked off roads and lines of police tape until we were directly across the street from the fiery tower. We parked, got out, and, along with hundreds of nearby residents and hotel guests, we took photos and watched the tower smoulder.
Still, with the ultimate fire-works show in progress at CCTV, just down the green swirleys and red poppers were ignited.
Not until the next day was it revealed that illegal fireworks were to blame for the fire. I think only ones that destroy multi-billion yuan buildings fall into that category.
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