I'm Serious

My neighbors have outhouses.

At Least the Mess Resides Outside My Gated Community

For three days, my morning walk to school has been made uncomfortable by two things: freezing wind and a gallon juice jug full of donkey droppings.

Given the proximity to Russia and the promise that our building will be heated until May, the face-numbing wind is expected. Sometimes I get little icicles on my eyelashes. It snowed yesterday. It's cold in Eerguna. I'm over it.

I'm even growing accustomed to the endless piles of donkey poop. And the fact that the tractor-turned-seemingly-reliable-automobiles seem like an upgrade from a miniature horse-pulled cart.

It's not advisable to walk with one's head held high in Eerguna--even after one's class of kindergartners just mastered "go to bed" and "good night." Pedestrians need always been on the look-out for piles of turds surely underfoot.

But what I really can't get over is the gallon jug full of donkey poop that has rested across the street from my gated community for three days.

First, how did it get in the jug? Did someone fix it to the donkey's behind and hope the jug caught it? Did one person actually take the time to spoon it all into that jug from the road?

Second, why? The other drivers all seem to leave the droppings where they lay. So why, in the middle of winter, is one guy trying to hold on to this crap? I could almost understand saving it during planting/growing seasons. Manure is useful in that capacity. But now's the season for ice and snow and those doesn't need fertilizer.

Third, and most importantly, if someone wanted those turds and made the effort to save them, why are they lying in a juice jug across the street from my house? Why leave that jug to get hit by a bike or stepped on by another donkey, thereby allowing a fiercer eruption of odor that the community must encounter daily? Why waste what must have been so painstakingly gathered?

I have a lot of unanswerable questions regarding Chinese small-town way of life. This, somehow, seems the most pressing. Regardless, I won't have to walk to school until Monday and I'm sure someone will find that jug of gold by then.

The Day We Didn't Get Hustled

While Mike observed Eerguna's FREE HOT WATER FRIDAYS with a long soak in the tub, I had a chance to reflect on the day spent in Hailaer.

Our assistants told us that a taxi to Hailaer would cost 30RMB per person, while bus tickets were 27RMB each way. When looking at a two hour trip, it seemed obvious and simple to fork over an extra 3RMB for the luxury of the taxi.

So, we caught a black cab near Eerguna's only bus station. We got in and sat there for about thirty minutes before we realized that it's only 30RMB per person IF there are four people in the cab. Before coming to this realization, we had acquired a front seat passenger who filled the trunk up with loaves of Russian bread. Once we figured out the deal, we offered 45RMB each and, finally, we hit the road.

The driver was wearing a jacket with official-looking police patches on both arms. But I think he went about 100kmph and stopped once to pee on the side of the road and stopped a second time to let Mike do the same. Something tells me I could probably own a police jacket, too.

After two hours, we arrived in Hailaer, the Pittsburgh of Hulun Beier, on the prowl for two things: fast food and cheese.

During my previous trip to China, I was warned by a tour guide named Rock that one should "only eat Kentucky in an emergence." Regardless, Mike and I pounded the pavement searching for some Original Recipe goodness.

And we found it.

And we spent nearly 130RMB (roughly $20US) enjoying three mashed potatoes, two chicken sandwiches, two chicken wings, two Dragon Twisters, two egg dessert tarts, two fruit and ice cream parfaits, two sodas, two coffees, a small popcorn chicken, a large popcorn chicken, and a large french fry.




I'm still largely ashamed of what feels like cement churning in my stomach, but also quite fulfilled and happy to feel really American.

After giving our regards to the Colonel, we found a Friendship Supermarket to complete our second mission of the day: cheese. In Eerguna there is a distinct lack of cheese. China's dairy capital fails to function in this creamy, delicious arena of my diet staple.

Luckily, the Friendship Supermarket had both regular and black pepper flavor, all individually-wrapped for my convenience. The supermarket also had butter and fabulous-looking loaves of dark oatmeal bread that we simply couldn't resist.




And, to complete what was obviously turning into a craving for grilled cheese, we upgraded to a heavy, almost cast-iron skillet of a pan that shouldn't burn everything we cook.



Stomachs full of grease and bags full of dairy, we headed back to the bus station an hour early for our bus. Some guy kept telling us to get on to one leaving sooner. So we did because he kept insisting even after he saw our tickets with the bus number and time on them.

So, we boarded the bus, hit the seats in the back, and had a short jam session to the illest beats and Auto-Tuned remixes Hulun Beier has to offer.

It took the bus driver about twenty minutes to figure out someone was on the bus who shouldn't be. And, then, another ten to figure out it was us.

The whole bus was laughing at us as the driver and the man who urged us onto the bus tried then to get us to pay for the tickets again.

We yelled at the man who told us to get on the bus, but it didn't really matter. We got off with ample time to get on the bus we were supposed to be on in the first place.

Did he really think we were going to pay for tickets again just to make him look like less of an idiot? Did he really think he could hustle us, the kids with all the cheese and butter? The kids living in the good graces of the Colonel?

EERGUNA: Where Everything is Better, Sometimes

Before arriving in Hulun Beier's small town of Eerguna, we were told by our host, Uncle Sam, that everything is better in Eerguna. "The fish is better. The tofu is better. The air is better," he boasted in a manner befitting a hometown kid. When I asked if life is better, he grinned and nodded.


The truth is, though, I've moved to China's West Virginia.

People are constantly asking me about Mongolia. This would be a fine question to ask if I lived in Mongolia. But I don't. I'm living in Inner Mongolia. It's essentially the difference between living in Virginia and West Virginia, with the exception that Mongolia is another country and not simply another state. (So, please, guys: I'm from WEST Virginia. I'm living in INNER Mongolia.)

The women here are mostly larger than in the rest of China. The men seem to be roughly the same size as their other countrymen. Still, the bigness conjurs images of West Virginia, one of America's most obese states. While the Chinese certainly aren't obese, the Mongolian influence is definitely strong through the torso and the thighs. There's also an unfortunate amount of permed hair.

One difference I've noticed between the local ladies and me is where we wear our diamonds. I wear mine on my fingers; Eerguna girls wear theirs in their teeth.

Another difference is that while the rest of America thinks West Virginians roll around on horse-pulled carts, we don't. We leave that to the hardcore Menonites of Sugarcreek, Ohio and Lancaster, Pennsylvania. In Eerguna there are more small horses and donkeys than I-70 has domestic pick-ups.

This is the most traffic I've seen in Eerguna:



Also, notice the streets in the photo above. One thing Eerguna can hold over West Virginia's head is that they save tons of taxpayer dollars by not clearing off the roads. They just let all the ice compact itself into a hard, slippery slope. It's kind of charming in a dangerous way.

To be fair, they do clear off some roads. Really, it's just one block at a time,
but in a city with about twenty streets, why do it all at once? And why really remove it when it's just as easy to pile it up on the sidewalks?



Plus, it's so cold, most people are too bundled up to notice the mess anyway.



But, even I've had enough with my complaining. When it all thaws (sometime in May, I've heard), the grasslands of Inner Mongolia are a source of nothern Chinese pride. From my apartment window I have views of rolling hills and the Eerguna River, just like I used to see from my houses in Wheeling.

Also like West Virginia (but excluding Moundsville) the people are overwhelmingly warm, bordering on an intrusive sweetness. They swoop in for a better look at Mike's blue eyes. They want to order the most delicious foods for us when we obviously can't read menus. They invite me out dancing at the Russian disco. They buy us beer and toast to us.





On second thought, the hospitality shown to me is greater here than anywhere I've been in West Virginia. I guess I just wish the Mountaineers were warmer and less stand-offish to foreigners.

On a happier note, like West Virginia, Eerguna breeds the love of simple things. In West Virginia, it's the joy of catching a fish or eating at legendary independent restaurants. There's a certain happiness in Eerguna's Free Hot Water Fridays and taking showers in the sink. But there's another indefinable joy in receiving a hot water heater on Saturday morning.

Still, I'm not totally sold on Uncle Sam's idea that life in Eerguna is better. I will concede that it's not bad. It's actually pretty good. And the tofu is delicious.

Call off the Search Parties: I'm Back!

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.

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.