On Information Control

1/18/2011

Just wanted to note that obviously I had heard about the extent of the government’s control on what people are allowed to know, but never really saw it firsthand. I’ve met several kids recently who had no idea about the Tiananmen Square Incident of 1989. I am ever the diplomat in China and do not take sides or criticize the gov’t with my friends (even if there is seeming cause). Chinese, especially young students, can get very very defensive and even break off a friendship if they think that you harbor adverse opinions about the gov’t. So, I simply said that there was a ‘happening’ in 1989 and that if they wanted to know, we could talk about it. That’s all I’ll say on this public blog.

On Bureaucracy/Quality

1/15/2011

This was inevitably going to show up in my blog. It was sparked this time by my experience moving into a new room at my university. First, getting into the room was a nightmare. I had to see three different ‘officials’ who responsible for different things. One took my request and gave me the appropriate paperwork. Another actually found me the room to stay in and handled the key handover and such. Yet another took care of my deposit and rental stuff. They all work in the same office and sit not 5 feet from one another. However, there is NO overlap between what they can/are willing to do. And their two hour lunches and their daily two hour ‘meetings’ make it very difficult to track them all down and get it done. Next, setting up internet. Much of the same issues. There is a special office that specifically handles campus internet access. They arrive at the office at 9, ‘work’ until 11, then lunch until 1, then usually have a ‘meeting’ until about 3 or 4, then go home. So, you have a very small window of opportunity to get ahold of them. Next, quality. I moved into my room which was ‘new’. The building had just been finished 3 months ago and I was the first person to live in my room. Everything seemed ok, the room was small but had two desks and lots of efficient storage/closet space. Then, I discovered that the heater didn’t work, neither did the hot water heater. Since the room, as many places are, is extremely poorly insulated, I might as well have been sleeping outside. Through much haggling and office visits, I got my hot water heater fixed so I could get a bearable shower. The room heater still doesn’t work properly so I bought my own small space heater. Next, the door broke. HOW DOES THIS JUST HAPPEN???? It simple started coming off the hinges. So, I went to the building management and they referred me to yet another office b/c that wasn’t their responsibility. After a day of waiting in my room, the repairman finally showed up, jacked with my door for an hour and finally got it to stay on the hinges and close properly. I should stress that all along the way, there were 10+ different office visits to different ‘officials’ in order to get it taken care of. No word yet on my heater. This is all due to a bad combination of poor quality and overbearing bureaucracy. Rant finished.

***UPDATE*** (as of 1/22/2011): still no internet, they closed the office until the 3rd week of february. my head is going to explode...

Thanksgiving in China

11/24/2010

It’s the middle of November and Thanksgiving is just a day away. It seems appropriate to make an entry into my travelogue. It’s been nearly three months since I arrived in China. I’ve experienced a lot. I’ve met a lot of people, seen a lot of things, and heard a lot of stories. I’d like to tell one of my own. Over the past few months, I’ve developed a good friendship with this kid who works at my campus as a security guard. He’s a year younger than me and comes from a poor and fractured family. His mother, formerly a cocaine and other hard drugs addict, is the only family left in his life, and even that relationship is stressed. But whenever we talk, we talk about his dreams of getting a lot of money and having no worries and how life would just be so much easier. We sit in tea houses and talk endlessly of business ideas and dream up how we could make money together, everything from starting an import/export business to starting a restaurant in Laos where he has some distant relatives and the cost of living is much lower. We talk as though we were from the same mold. So I decided to go with him and visit his mother who’s cooking he swears is the best in Sichuan. The usual conversation carried on all the way there. Upon arriving at his house, the conversation stopped abruptly. His mother’s house, little more that a shack, was in deplorable condition. There were dead vegetables rotting in baskets in front of the house, random chickens clucking about, a mangy dog staring absently at us. His mother emerged, a woman bent from years of hard work and drug usage, haggard features, surly hair pulled together into a equally surly knot, and managing a gappy smile. In that moment, the both of us just stood there, staring. Nothing but the ice cold reality of the gulf between us existed. The fact is, that he is from a poor family in China, and I am from a working class family in the U.S. That means everything. What I have been able to do in my life may have been beyond my wildest dreams, but it is beyond the scope of dreaming for him. I think in that moment, the both of us realized this. It remained unspoken. We proceeded to enjoy what indeed turned out to be the best meal I had had yet in Sichuan, and promptly returned to Chengdu to our normal lives. But I will never forget that feeling of thankfulness of being blessed to be born in a country that allows you, if you are willing to work hard, believe in yourself, and have a dream, to achieve almost anything. For that, on this Thanksgiving, I am thankful.

To the Tibet (the plateau at least)

10/07/2010

I am one who likes to see and do things for myself. This has led to seeing and doing many things that were regrettable, but nonetheless good experiences. Taking the sleeper bus last night here to Maqen will be in that category. This situation presented several difficulties, not the least of which was that the beds were a paltry 5½ ft long. Not only that, but the bus also didn’t take the highway (obviously) but rather the local roads so the ride was incredibly bumpy, so there were times when hitting a particularly big pothole (as opposed the garden variety), I would be nearly launched out of my top bunk onto the sully bus floor below. The cleanliness of the beds was also dubious at best, as the entire bus smelled like feet. Or it could have just been the guy next to me (I think I figured out how they make boots here: they simply don four pairs of socks, wear and not wash them till they’re rock hard, then, viola!, you’ve got boots!). I managed to befriend a Buddhist monk from Inner Mongolia who invited me to his 老家 (remember that one?) in December. I fully intend on taking him up on that offer. After a long pit stop (which we pushed into the heat of the owner’s house) and subsequently sleeping in one or two 30 minute intervals a few times, we arrived at 5am. We were greeted by darkness, an immaculate night sky, and below freezing temperatures (not to mention disbelief that this place was a medium-sized dot on the map). We were kindly invited to stay on the bus in the comfort of our beds until daybreak by the driver who smoked even as he slept (I think…). The city rested at 4500m above sea level so the air was thin and cold. The wind made my cheeks hurt so it was fortunate that I wasn’t in the mood for smiling J  At a little past daybreak when we were booted off the bus, it was still cold and we were running off about an hour or two’s worth of sleep and junky food from the rest stop. So we, like sheep gone astray, shuffled into the closest food establishment that would have us. Inside, we were greeted by a iron cast stove that would serve as our table (should’ve learned earlier not to put my elbows on the table) and warm hospitality of a the Tibetan proprietor. After eating spicy hot soup and noodles and drinking tea, we went in search of the rumored hotel. Indeed, it existed. In this one-horse town, there was but one place that was open to foreigners (situation that needs more explaining). After checking in, we rested for an hour or so, then with reckless abandon, charged out onto the street. By this time, it was mid morning, the sky was bluer than blue, and the sun was high and the air was crisp. Beautiful. I got it in my head to climb the first mountain I saw (something that tends to happen, Lisa and Wesley may remember from Burtchesgarten ;) ). So, armed to the teeth with a bottle of water, dried noodles, ice coffee, and snicker bars, we started off. At this altitude, even tying your shoes can render your lungs useless. On the way up, we passed through a Tibetan prayer flag ‘village’, which is where the locals hang thousands of multicolored prayer flags. It was a beautiful sight. Then we climbed and climbed and reached top after top. But there always seemed to be one higher (and it was “just RITE THERE!”). We past herds of cows, a coyote chasing a flock of absurdly stupid goats, streams, birds, and finally reached the top of this mountain. One could know it was the top by the small collection of prayer flags on its highest point. There at 5100m above sea level, we sat in the stark wind and among the mountain flowers and beheld the breathtaking majesty and beauty of the Tibetan plateau. It was to die for. And as the sun made its descent from its perch in the mid sky to rest behind the endless mountains beyond, we decided it was best to do the same.

The descent was hard as the 4 hour climb up had rendered my knees useless. Eventually reaching the bottom around half past nine, we swiftly ate a hearty dinner and the same Tibetan place and retired to our foreigner hotel. 

In Xining

10/06/2010

I am writing currently from Xining, Qinghai. Melanie, an Austrian friend of mine, and I left Monday via sleeper train from Chengdu, 24 hrs till arrival. Unbearable. On the train there were plenty of sights and sounds to keep me company. There was a native Qinghai family there with us, so we played cards and chewed the fat for several hours until my Chinese vocabulary and their patience started to run thin. But in the 15 or so hours (that’s a long time!!) that I spent talking to them en route to Qinghai, we covered a plethora of topics ranging from Buddhism (which I graciously declined to acquiesce their persistent attempts to convert me to) to consumer culture in the U.S. I would say most of the people around us were typical day laborers on their way back to their laojia 老家 (literally ‘old home’ in Chinese) and it was very interesting to get their perspectives on this wide range of topics, as opposed to those of the college educated middle class kids that I often mingle with. So, after a surprisingly smooth ride, we arrived in Xining on Tuesday morning. We ducked into our hostel for a few moments to check in and put our stuff down, then quickly made off to see the city we only planned to spend a day in.

Just to sidetrack for a moment: you see, the problem is, we have zero plan. Nothing, we just decided this morning that we would leave today. And actually that decision was under review even just one hour ago when I had gotten this fancy of camping in the middle of the Qinghai tundra near some snowy mountains for a few days and mountain climbing all day every day. Probably best that we didn’t go with that one.

But anyway, out in the streets of Xining. The vibe I got was very different. Xining, the capital of Qinghai, represents a melting pot (or salad bowl, depending on your political affiliation) of Han Chinese, Muslim Chinese, and ethic Tibetans. This has, in the past, led to serious conflicts. But generally, Qinghai is a peaceful place and is a model for harmonious coexistence 和谐共存. The standards of living in Xining were obviously lower than in many of the other Chinese cities I’ve been to. It is one of the poorest provinces in the People’s Republic. As evening fell, we wondered around the central square (西宁广场) and happened upon various large groups of (possibly competing) people singing folk songs and dancing traditional dances (not the quasi-disco ones you always see all the old ladies doing). I think there is something special about music as a method of culture preservation. The scene there in Xining Square, with the men and women, young and old, with children and without, reminded me of the time I was in the countryside of Hamburg, Germany in 2008, and went to a village classical music “show” in a barn. Much the same, old German grandmothers embraced their grand- or great grandchildren, explaining why this was important, how they did this when they were their age and so on, cultivating that sense of identity and that sense of being German in part through their preservation and nurturing of music. Through what channels is our great culture preserved? MTV?

We left Xining this evening and are currently on a sleeper bus bound for an obscure Tibetan town called Maqen. Don’t spare the horses driver! Adventure awaits!

To Qinghai

10/04/2010

I’m writing from the top bunk of a sleeper train bound for Xining, Qinghai. I spent this evening having silly conversations with my fellow passengers and playing games with the 3yr old that was staying with his family in the same compartment as me. Sometimes, last year, i found it wholly incomprehensible that i was actually in China and travelling or doing whatever. But now, it is just starting to feel natural. I’m looking forward to the time when I can quickly move past the usual conversations that I have with Chinese people have substantive conversations that can yield real understanding. I’m out looking for adventure this week. I have no idea what i’m going to do or where i’m going, but i’m aiming for an adventure. I wonder if i make this attempt at getting to know ppl in my own country. Why is it that i’m a more open and free individual outside the country?

Day 2 in Country

9/23/2010

Today I'm heading to wan shushu's younger brother's wife's laojia. i am told that the conditions here are considerably different than those that wan shushu's laojia. we're taking an suv to the mountain this time, accompanied by wan shushu's wife (referred to hereafter as xie aiyi), the younger brother and his wife. (and various others as it turned out)

the ride to the village was rough. much worse conditions than wan shushu's laojia. we rode up a snaking, single lane, mountainside road for 45 minutes, precariously squeezing past countless dumptrucks carrying the treasures of the mountain down to be thrown into china's economic machine. arriving at the top, we climbed up some steps carved from the ground and fortified with stones, and then entered the courtyard of wan shushu's younger brother's wife's family (whew). stepping over clucking chickens and ducking through twisting tomato patches, we came to sit in the courtyard. we sat on small stools again and exchanged pleasantries with teh family. i'm not sure what these people of the mountain are eating or drinking, but despite their brutal lives and robust smoking habits, they are all in fantastic health. the grandmother was approaching 90. if i had lived the life she did, i wouldn't have made it past 30. then a group of us went out together in to woods, armed to the teeth with shovels and rakes, to forage for mushrooms. i was extremely skeptical about this venture and wondered who among us would be deemed knowledgable enough to discern which mushrooms went well with soup and which went well with famalihaid (stuff you put in dead people). it turned out to be the two 10yr old nephews. that put my heart at rest. we climbed with scarred patches of land and i quickly learned the ropes and landed my first big catch of the day. after we had sufficiently gathered enough for the upcoming lunch, we meandered thru the bush, chewing the fat and taking in the surroundings. wan shushu showed me some abandoned step fields and remains of the homesteads that had once cared for them. finally we went back, but stopped first and the neighbor's house. i was confused by the family structure. there were two uncles, a grandmother, and then two young children. i learned later that the uncles were keen on the bottle and took it out on the young 6yr old at times, resulting in his left currently being swollen and black with remnants of a laceration down across his eyebrow. the farm life is not always and happy and carefree as it seems, despite the comely appearance. upon returning, they stuffed me beyond recognition with delicious meats and vegetables raised/grown not 30 meters away. there's nothing like good fresh farm cookin'. afterwards, we assumed our usual position on the stools built for someone half my size and chou'd yans and talked about the economic situation of the rural half of the family. indeed, they echoed many of the concerns from the last visit. this family said that they would move into the city and live with their children but the money that they would get for their land wouldn't be enough to sustain them in the city. and apparently, no matter what, after you turn 60, you get at least 80RMB per month. the grandfather had paid for his own health insurance his entire life so now it is supplemented given that he's 66. so each month he gets 120RMB. after that, we just went down the mountain and bumped back down the mountain. these few days have been fantastic for my research and understanding of the real situation on the ground in china's rural areas.