Tuesday, 30 January 2007
quote of the day: gentleman
"You wouldn't know a gentleman if he slapped you in the face." -- Mr Smith
how i met dan: tumbling down the china hole
As a French girl, I love hanging out in cafes for hours on end sipping lattes and watching the world go by. I've tried to break the habit -- it's terrible for my study routine -- but no go: it's practically genetic. One of the first things I'll do in each new city is stake out the cafe territory. In Cambridge, Indigo's is best to catch up on Amy the Sometime Lesbian's love life or Steve the Slacker's attempts to escape his garage band; Star$ in Borders is for reading Heat magazine on the sly. In Kunming, Salvador's has the best food and the Legendary Lost Bathroom Reader for entertainment; Hong Bai Lan (Bleu Blanc Rouge), its competitor just around the corner, has free internet but terrible coffee. In Wudaokou, I've spent hours in the oddly-named Sculpting in Time (SIT) not far from Tsinghua -- and that's where I met Steely Dan.
I first noticed a bald guy with a moustache sitting at the table next to me. He thought I hadn't noticed him checking out my fake Victoria Beckham jeans. He asked if he could reach across to plug in his laptop; I obliged, and asked him about the thick brass band wrapped around his forearm. He said it had been custom-made in Bangladesh. In fact, he never took it off, not even when he wasn't wearing anything else.
We got to talking about travel, NGOs, Bush, Beijing, and a million other things you talk about when you first meet someone you might like. We didn't explore the city enough, we both agreed. Dan asked me if I knew the address of a museum mentioned in Time Out where an architecture exhibition was taking place. I didn't. The exhibition was closing tomorrow. He asked me if I wanted to go with him now; with my slightly better Chinese, I could help him navigate the cab journey. It was four o'clock -- we might still have time to make it. I'd just come back from Lightning Peak where I'd had an encounter with a fugitive murderer and nearly been hit by a rockslide. Maybe my defenses were down; maybe I was feeling adventurous. I said yes.
The cab driver set off after a shouted 5-minute phone conversation with the museum. As we rode over the interpass, Dan started complaining -- wasn't the museum in Haidian? Forty kuai later, the cab driver dropped us off in front of what was unmistakeably a museum. However, no architecture in sight -- it was the Museum of Military Affairs, showing an exhibit on the War of Japanese Aggression. We decided to check it out.
Foiled again -- the guard stopped us at the door. Not because we were white people, but because it was already 4:55; the museum would be closing in five minutes. Somewhat abashed, we decided to hit the subway and make our way to the other museum mentioned in Time Out. Perhaps our luck would change.
Rushing out of the tunnel, we made it to Tiananmen square at 5:25. Sneaking through the back door of the museum failed; it was another five-minute walk to the front. At 5:30, we walked up to the gates praying that they wouldn't be closed for the day. They were open until 6 o'clock -- but once again, the guards wouldn't let us in: that very moment they had stopped selling tickets for the day. Frazzled and used to middle-class priviledge, I gave the guards a good ten-minute tongue-lashing, explaining that we had traipsed halfway across the city to make it to that very museum, and that we would certainly not be able to come back tomorrow. No go. They wouldn't let us in.
Defeated, we decided to take the subway back to Wudaokou. But somehow, a policeman gave us bad directions and we couldn't find the station. That's when Dan realized: we must be stuck in the China hole.
Over a plate of ma po doufu in a fluorescent-lit restaurant, Dan explained the meaning of the China hole. Like Alice's rabbit hole, it's a place where the familiar is transformed into the unrecognizable. You walk down a busy shopping street and suddenly you're in a slum. Simple errands that should take twenty minutes last five hours. Bureaucratic rules are followed to the point of absurdity. "Maybe" means "it won't happen" and "it's possible" means "immediately if you pull the right strings". No wonder we couldn't make it to the exhibition. Further and further down the China hole we tumbled; the faster we ran, the further we ended from our goal. The best thing to do was settle in and enjoy the show.
Our meal in the hutong seemed to break the spell and the cab ride back to Wudaokou passed uneventfully. We exchanged numbers and Dan even told me his last name. Later on we met up in a few other Beijing cafes and he told me something about Mel Gibson that shows The Mad One doesn't hate Jews so much after all (or at least not naked female ones). But that's a story for another day...
I first noticed a bald guy with a moustache sitting at the table next to me. He thought I hadn't noticed him checking out my fake Victoria Beckham jeans. He asked if he could reach across to plug in his laptop; I obliged, and asked him about the thick brass band wrapped around his forearm. He said it had been custom-made in Bangladesh. In fact, he never took it off, not even when he wasn't wearing anything else.
We got to talking about travel, NGOs, Bush, Beijing, and a million other things you talk about when you first meet someone you might like. We didn't explore the city enough, we both agreed. Dan asked me if I knew the address of a museum mentioned in Time Out where an architecture exhibition was taking place. I didn't. The exhibition was closing tomorrow. He asked me if I wanted to go with him now; with my slightly better Chinese, I could help him navigate the cab journey. It was four o'clock -- we might still have time to make it. I'd just come back from Lightning Peak where I'd had an encounter with a fugitive murderer and nearly been hit by a rockslide. Maybe my defenses were down; maybe I was feeling adventurous. I said yes.
The cab driver set off after a shouted 5-minute phone conversation with the museum. As we rode over the interpass, Dan started complaining -- wasn't the museum in Haidian? Forty kuai later, the cab driver dropped us off in front of what was unmistakeably a museum. However, no architecture in sight -- it was the Museum of Military Affairs, showing an exhibit on the War of Japanese Aggression. We decided to check it out.
Foiled again -- the guard stopped us at the door. Not because we were white people, but because it was already 4:55; the museum would be closing in five minutes. Somewhat abashed, we decided to hit the subway and make our way to the other museum mentioned in Time Out. Perhaps our luck would change.
Rushing out of the tunnel, we made it to Tiananmen square at 5:25. Sneaking through the back door of the museum failed; it was another five-minute walk to the front. At 5:30, we walked up to the gates praying that they wouldn't be closed for the day. They were open until 6 o'clock -- but once again, the guards wouldn't let us in: that very moment they had stopped selling tickets for the day. Frazzled and used to middle-class priviledge, I gave the guards a good ten-minute tongue-lashing, explaining that we had traipsed halfway across the city to make it to that very museum, and that we would certainly not be able to come back tomorrow. No go. They wouldn't let us in.
Defeated, we decided to take the subway back to Wudaokou. But somehow, a policeman gave us bad directions and we couldn't find the station. That's when Dan realized: we must be stuck in the China hole.
Over a plate of ma po doufu in a fluorescent-lit restaurant, Dan explained the meaning of the China hole. Like Alice's rabbit hole, it's a place where the familiar is transformed into the unrecognizable. You walk down a busy shopping street and suddenly you're in a slum. Simple errands that should take twenty minutes last five hours. Bureaucratic rules are followed to the point of absurdity. "Maybe" means "it won't happen" and "it's possible" means "immediately if you pull the right strings". No wonder we couldn't make it to the exhibition. Further and further down the China hole we tumbled; the faster we ran, the further we ended from our goal. The best thing to do was settle in and enjoy the show.
Our meal in the hutong seemed to break the spell and the cab ride back to Wudaokou passed uneventfully. We exchanged numbers and Dan even told me his last name. Later on we met up in a few other Beijing cafes and he told me something about Mel Gibson that shows The Mad One doesn't hate Jews so much after all (or at least not naked female ones). But that's a story for another day...
travel plans update
I'm leaving on the night bus tomorrow for the field.
Here's a preview of my destination, Lightning Peak. Altitude around 3000m (enough to make your head spin).
Here's a preview of my destination, Lightning Peak. Altitude around 3000m (enough to make your head spin).
kunming: seagulls in spring city
E and I arrived safe and sound in Kunming yesterday afternoon. I helped her arrange a room at the trusty Nationalities University Guesthouse on 121 Street, then we headed up Culture Alley, past the street vendors selling tangerines, fried tofu and banana pancakes, to the expat cafe where I spend an indecent amount of time whenever I come to Kunming. Salvador's, so named because the first branch was opened in Dali, serve tasty adult-strength coffee (not like the muddy water they serve in Star$ Beijing) and make their own delicious American-style ice cream.
It's been five or six months since I saw the inside of Salvador's, but when I walked up to the counter, the fuwuyuan said immediately: You're back. Arriving here feels less like travelling and more like coming home. But the city changes every time I see it. This summer shops and apartment buildings had sprung up out of nowhere since my first visit in winter 05. Even in the 3 weeks I spent away from Kunming travelling in the mountains, on my return towering university gates had suddenly appeared in the middle of busy main streets, built from scratch. Now the garment boutiques across from Salvador's have disappeared -- pulled down just a few days ago -- to be replaced by newly-planted trees.
Just like Beijing's hutongs, many Kunming buildings are painted over with the character "chai" meaning "tear down". Apparently city planners have decided the city needs more greenery. They're even building a new public park with an artificial lake, similar to Green Lake Park. E & I visited Green Lake this lunchtime; hordes of seagulls circled the air and settled on rusty pedalboats all over the water. At 12 o'clock the majiang players and amateur orchestras hadn't settled in yet. Because of the unofficial time difference with the east, Kunming tends to run on a later schedule than Beijing. After dark the teahouses' coloured lights shine on the water, and pedestrians stroll leisurely over the stone walkways well into the night.
It's been five or six months since I saw the inside of Salvador's, but when I walked up to the counter, the fuwuyuan said immediately: You're back. Arriving here feels less like travelling and more like coming home. But the city changes every time I see it. This summer shops and apartment buildings had sprung up out of nowhere since my first visit in winter 05. Even in the 3 weeks I spent away from Kunming travelling in the mountains, on my return towering university gates had suddenly appeared in the middle of busy main streets, built from scratch. Now the garment boutiques across from Salvador's have disappeared -- pulled down just a few days ago -- to be replaced by newly-planted trees.
Just like Beijing's hutongs, many Kunming buildings are painted over with the character "chai" meaning "tear down". Apparently city planners have decided the city needs more greenery. They're even building a new public park with an artificial lake, similar to Green Lake Park. E & I visited Green Lake this lunchtime; hordes of seagulls circled the air and settled on rusty pedalboats all over the water. At 12 o'clock the majiang players and amateur orchestras hadn't settled in yet. Because of the unofficial time difference with the east, Kunming tends to run on a later schedule than Beijing. After dark the teahouses' coloured lights shine on the water, and pedestrians stroll leisurely over the stone walkways well into the night.
Sunday, 28 January 2007
cast of characters
Chaton: sleek, sexy, & delicately scented flower of the Arch & Anth department
Cookie: Picard's wife & star of the Cambridge social scene -- sweet with a brittle bite
Crooner: philosopher ex-boyfriend & jazz singer with a voice like rum on ice
Dan-O: Englishman afield in the East. Special skill: MCing in three Asian languages
Fey: possible lovechild of Bill Gates and Hello Kitty. The cutest computer geek in Cambridge -- with sharp claws
Hattermad aka Grouchy Marxist: genderqueer heterosexual male & recent escapee from The Purple College. Formerly Cambridge's only known possessor of the goyfro
Jimmy Ketchup: worshipper of His Bobness & classmate from primary school
Jimmy Vegan: nomad, painter, ukelelist, animal rights activist & father of breakdancing cartoon hero Gnome Chomsky
Johnny Dangerous: from LA by way of Taiwan. The rock to Mr Smith's scissors and my paper
Johnnie Joyce: double bass player on a world tour of jazz... by bike
Johnny Yesterday: Cambridge ex who taught me the joys of singing along to LL Cool J
M: anthropologist, healer & poet, wise in the ways of the middle kingdom (Cambridge or China, take your pick)
Mr Smith: Ms Wolfe's boyfriend. We met in Chinese 201E, realized we were the two biggest nerds in the class and have been friends ever since
Mr Spoon: orientalizing, fantasizing, baudelarian, Cantabridgean
Ms Wolfe: Mr Smith's girlfriend. Making a difference in the World... of Warcraft
The Norwegian: engaged in a personal experiment to see how long the student life can be extended from Cambridge to Beijing
Picard (as in "Captain"): Cookie's husband. Broad of back & firm of jaw, former comrade from the Cambridge powerlifting club
Proxodimec: global hobo of the Russian steppes & photographic chronicler from Belize to Beijing
"Steely" Dan: American law student & briefly partner-in-crime for adventures in the China hole
Triin: Estonian classical guitarist turned international jazz outlaw for the Cyclowns & Thousands of Dead Frogs
Violet: English student & future Zadie Smith, but blonde. Joining our protagonist in polyamorous adventures
Xavier: polyamorous kinkster; our eyes met across a crowded dungeon
Cookie: Picard's wife & star of the Cambridge social scene -- sweet with a brittle bite
Crooner: philosopher ex-boyfriend & jazz singer with a voice like rum on ice
Dan-O: Englishman afield in the East. Special skill: MCing in three Asian languages
Fey: possible lovechild of Bill Gates and Hello Kitty. The cutest computer geek in Cambridge -- with sharp claws
Hattermad aka Grouchy Marxist: genderqueer heterosexual male & recent escapee from The Purple College. Formerly Cambridge's only known possessor of the goyfro
Jimmy Ketchup: worshipper of His Bobness & classmate from primary school
Jimmy Vegan: nomad, painter, ukelelist, animal rights activist & father of breakdancing cartoon hero Gnome Chomsky
Johnny Dangerous: from LA by way of Taiwan. The rock to Mr Smith's scissors and my paper
Johnnie Joyce: double bass player on a world tour of jazz... by bike
Johnny Yesterday: Cambridge ex who taught me the joys of singing along to LL Cool J
M: anthropologist, healer & poet, wise in the ways of the middle kingdom (Cambridge or China, take your pick)
Mr Smith: Ms Wolfe's boyfriend. We met in Chinese 201E, realized we were the two biggest nerds in the class and have been friends ever since
Mr Spoon: orientalizing, fantasizing, baudelarian, Cantabridgean
Ms Wolfe: Mr Smith's girlfriend. Making a difference in the World... of Warcraft
The Norwegian: engaged in a personal experiment to see how long the student life can be extended from Cambridge to Beijing
Picard (as in "Captain"): Cookie's husband. Broad of back & firm of jaw, former comrade from the Cambridge powerlifting club
Proxodimec: global hobo of the Russian steppes & photographic chronicler from Belize to Beijing
"Steely" Dan: American law student & briefly partner-in-crime for adventures in the China hole
Triin: Estonian classical guitarist turned international jazz outlaw for the Cyclowns & Thousands of Dead Frogs
Violet: English student & future Zadie Smith, but blonde. Joining our protagonist in polyamorous adventures
Xavier: polyamorous kinkster; our eyes met across a crowded dungeon
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