The Golden Ticket

Day 1

On the day of our hospital trip, Dan and I chose a hospital using a Chengdu expat forum since we were unfamiliar with the hospitals in Chengdu. Then after lunch, we made our merry way with stool samples (placed in a very Asian-looking cookie box with cute little raccoons and bunnies decorating it which we then put inside an oversized H&M paper bag—I know, I know) to Huaxi Hospital, Chengdu’s biggest and most well-known hospital. In retrospect, choosing the largest and most popular hospital wasn't the brightest idea, but hey, it's all part of the adventure, right? All the while I was hoping the process would be direct and simple. In and out.

          We walked into Huaxi, and I thought for a second I was at Penn Station at 5:30 PM. Except instead of businessmen in crisp dress pants with glossy briefcases, Tibetans with elaborate, colorful patterned vests, dark brown skin, and messy hair were walking with purpose to their respective destinations. The part of Chengdu we were in, the Tibetan Quarter (or Little Lhasa), is populated by many Tibetans. The area is filled with monks and shops boasting Tibetan handicraft, furniture, and jewelry. Many backpackers pass through Little Lhasa as the last city on the mainland before they head into Tibet. The floor was unmistakably crowded, but not so packed I was constantly rubbing shoulders with people. I felt like a captured sand crab after being released back onto the sand—scuttling back and forth as I tried to orient myself and recover in a new world.

At the same time I was mesmerized by the whole damn thing and wanted to find out as much as I could about Chinese hospitals and the provision of health care. I've learned a little about Chinese medicine since I've been here. Chinese traditional is based on the idea that sickness is caused by a disruption to your 'chi'. 'Chi' translates to energy flow or life force, and when that flow moving through your body is disrupted you become ill. Chinese traditional medicine revolves around this idea that good health is achieved by maintaining harmony in your body. Ensuring harmony among the 5 bodily elements is another way to stay healthy. The Chinese believe your body represents 5 elements (water, fire, earth, metal, and wood) and if these components are not in equilibrium, then your body becomes sick like when your 'chi' is disrupted. The medicine you take is supposed to correct these imbalances, and help you overcome your illness. I was only scratching the surface though.

I absorbed the people, the limps, the crowded elevators and waiting people, the shuffle of feet, and the Tibetans. I couldn’t help notice how different the Tibetans look from the Han. Tibetans have darker skin-- even if they are from Chengdu where the sun is a rare sight-- and darker, thicker, and much more unkempt hair than the Han. Tibetan eyes also affect me differently from the Han's. Tibetan eyes are pure, piercing, and a striking coal black. The Han's Coca-Cola black eyes seem muddled and less penetrating.

There are distinct differences beyond physical appearance though. I observed this a month ago when I went to the Tibetan Quarter with my cousin, Carolyn, and Dan. Since that visit I have become fascinated with Tibetan art and its meaning and use in Tibetan life. The interior and exterior of the places they live, and the handicrafts that adorn their bodies and homes are all gorgeous. Their homes are decorated with delicately carved, painted wooden tables, ceramic bowls with heavy flowery patterns, and thangka paintings with ridiculous amount of detail. Everything from their lamps to the architecture of their homes is intricate in pattern and design, as well as energetic and bold in color. Art is an integral part of their culture; it's neither a separate entity nor a messy collision of the beautiful and the living. To the Tibetans art is more than a painting on a wall only appreciated when guests are over. Tibetans themselves are art. 

Once I had dinner with friends and colleagues at a Tibetan restaurant in the Tibetan Quarter where I met the most stunning woman. She was the owner of the restaurant, and although her face wasn't particularly beautiful or refined, she made me stop and stare. When she smiled I could see that a golden cap was fixed over one of her front teeth. Her necklace was clunky, fiery orange and red, and impressive in size and color. Her wrists were adorned with bracelets of Tibetan silver (apparently high-quality silver); I saw jade, turquoise, copper, silver, and a veiny red. Her silver earrings played soft music whenever she walked, and her butt-length thick black hair, tied in a simple ponytail at the nape of her neck, swayed with each step. Her body radiated the warmth of a rainbow. She was wearing a dark red long sleeved shirt with silver threading and an ankle-length skirt of mixed colors covered with gold spiraling designs. I marveled at her use of jewelry as art; the composition was stunning. She was a walking Dali (think Les Elephants).

The utility and pleasure Tibetans pursue and find in art is remarkable, but I know I digress. I bring up my fascination because most of the people in the hospital were Tibetans, adding another interesting element to the novelty of the experience.

The first floor was filled solely with windows-- hospital workers behind and lines of people waiting in front. The scene reminded me of the end of a day in a factory when everybody is punching out. The windows had various lettering on each, signifying the type of service that could be found at the window. Even knowing what the windows read, we were still unsure what our first step should be. We sought help from a nurse in white chatting happily with another fellow nurse. She instructed us to go to the 3^rd floor in rapid Chinese, but then suddenly decided to accompany us. Thankful, we parted ways on the 3^rd floor where there were several information service desks, people seated on plastic chairs, and one very long line leading to a closed double door. Dan could read from a sign that this was indeed the infection department. We chose an information desk and filled the receptionist in on our situation. She smiled in her tiny white paper hat and said we needed a number and that she couldn't give us one because she had run out of them. We didn't ask what the number was for; we figured it was a number for a queue like at the bank. After she told us where we could get tickets, we obediently took the escalator down to the 2^nd floor in search of them.

          On the 2^nd floor we found ourselves among a crowd of Chinese people elbowing their way to the front of a black marble countertop separating three hospital workers sitting at computers from a swarm of Chinese people (no line in true Chinese fashion). It was a fierce competition among the Chinese as they talked over one another in an attempt to get a worker to take care of them first. Other than this desk area, the rest of the floor was occupied by people walking to wherever they were supposed to be-- maternity ward, operation room, blood test site.

There was a regular exchange occurring at the countertop-- a person would hand over a plastic card to a worker who would swipe it and then entertain her computer. We were close to the countertop when I heard a familiar voice yelling directly in front of me, recognition and dread filled me almost instantly. Other than his voice, I could recognize my landlord from his oddly shaped head (think of a basketball with the top and bottom cut off). My landlord speaks in only one volume: LOUD. Dan and I exchanged knowing glances and silently moved to the other end of the countertop.

          Once we had captured the attention of a hospital worker wearing a blue face mask and sitting at a computer, we asked for a ticket, but once again we were sent away and instructed to go to a different floor. On the 1^st floor, we finally found several windows with green lettering that said “TICKETS”. We got on the shortest line. You'd think I was scouting for Willy Wonka's last golden ticket because of how difficult it was to find these tickets. Well, I didn't get the ticket, and I didn't get to see the inside of the chocolate factory because the woman behind the window told us we couldn’t see anyone today and that we’d have to come back tomorrow.

There we were in front of the hospital, holding a bag of poop, still infected, and confused. We decided to try a different hospital and after a quick call to my co-worker we left for the No. 363 Hospital. She recommended the hospital because it was a military hospital, which meant it had better health care than other hospitals, and because it wouldn’t be busy. Renewed hope filled me as I clutched the H&M bag on my lap and as the cab hurtled down the street, weaving in and out of cautious Chinese pedestrians. After a short cab ride, the driver pulled up in front of a hospital complex consisting of several numbered buildings (1 to 6). All the buildings were concentrated in an area roughly half the size of a football field, and I could see several trees peeking out from behind the scattered buildings.

There were only two windows in the entry building’s lobby. A man seated behind one told us to go to the main building to get a ticket. The walk to the main building took a minute; the inside looked like a mini-version of Huaxi with fewer people (still mostly Tibetan). There weren't many lines and some windows were completely open for service. At an empty window, a woman handed us two plastic cards (our tickets) and asked us to pay 18 yuan in total (less than $3). We forked over the colorful big money, and with our cards in hand, retraced our steps back to the previous building. We handed the man we had talked to before our plastic cards, prompting him to ask us what was wrong. Dan explained that we thought we had a parasitic infection which provoked a look of confusion on his face. He insisted that the hospital wasn't capable of treating our infection. I didn't believe hiim because I knew our type of infection was fairly common here, but we didn't argue, and instead we reluctantly left the main building. I didn’t want to give up just yet though.

I spotted a small building with glass walls next door that looked like the hospital's pharmacy, and convinced Dan to find out what the pharmacists knew. Inside the pharmacy, a pleasant, young female pharmacist told us that there was a 'laoshi' (teacher) who could help us on the 2^nd floor of the main building in Room 9. She added that today was the teacher's day off, but we could come back tomorrow when the teacher would be in. I had no idea why she kept using the word 'laoshi' instead of the word for doctor 'yisheng'. I found out later that you call a doctor a teacher if the doctor is also a professor. Regardless of what the man said, I was still skeptical of any information given to us because of what experience had taught me that day. We persisted and went to go see if she was indeed out today.

Dan and I walked to the 2^nd floor to look for Room 9, and when we found it we came face-to-face with the teacher’s smiling portrait next to a closed office door. A curious receptionist who had been eyeing us came up to us and informed us the teacher would be in tomorrow (finally coinciding information!). She suggested we talk to another doctor at the hospital in the meantime. She waltzed us right in a room where a doctor heard us out and told us that the teacher was better suited for diagnosing and treating our infection. She even mentioned seeds and nuts as a treatment, but we figured something had gotten lost in translation. We thanked her and left. Dan and I immediately cabbed to a Starbucks near our apartment where I stuffed my face with a walnut muffin and hazelnut hot chocolate. Parasite and all.

Invasion of the Parasite!!!

Day 0

        Dan and I’ve got problems. There's no need for alarm though (ahem, family members!). I'll be fine. It’s a common, but unusual (for me) health problem that could be fixed with a one-time pill.  I discovered a symptom that seemed all too familiar (won't say where) while I was at work, and called Dan in a panic. We shared each other's disgusted sentiments, promised we'd go to the hospital, and hung up the phone. Dan called me back later that day after making a similar discovery. I felt slightly better knowing my friend had a little friend too. We made a plan to go to the hospital the next week. After the call, I opened up Google and immediately typed in "____________", looking over my shoulder to make sure I could be horrified and in awe in solitude.

        I'm not going to tell you straight out what kind of infection I have because I'm half mortified and I half want to leave you guessing (the writer needs to have some fun too).

        All I’ll say is that I have a parasitic infection.

This End is Just a Beginning

Day 2

I handed the pharmacist the white slip of paper with the medicines and instructions the teacher had prescribed me. She had outlined the process in 4 easy steps:

1. Eat 100 grams of pumpkin seeds.
2. After 2 hours (once the pumpkin seeds are digested), add 60 grams of betel nut (a mild stimulant the Sanya locals often chewed) to water. Boil water, let cool, and drink.
3. Pour 20 grams of white crystal (I forget the Chinese name) into a cup of hot water. Drink.
4. Shit.

The pharmacist rummaged briefly in several plastic compartments that made up an entire wall until she found what she was looking for. She handed Dan and me 24 bags of Chinese sorcery and potions. I touched them gingerly in wonder and awe. I felt uncertain and nervous, but I was curious more than anything. I was practically a Chinese-traditional-medicine virgin (other than my bout with the cold), but regardless my teacher decided my journey would be Chinese traditional. Since we weren't opposed to the idea, we consented to taking the scenic route. We were in for the ride. There was no denying it though, the entire process, including the medicine, was so foreign and unusual, like a bizarre aquatic creature. I was accustomed to the simple Western solutions: take 1 tablet every 4 hours. But Dorothy, we’re not in Kansas anymore. That’s for sure. When in China do as the Chinese do.

The pharmacist was completely unaware of my slight anxiety in seeing weird white crystals and dried nuts as the answer to my health problem. She was interested more in the fact we were foreigners, and that the white one could speak decent Chinese. She casually tossed all 24 bags in two small plastic bags, tied them, and placed them on top of the glass display case containing more Chinese medicine. She explained each medicine, and the directions more thoroughly-- patiently responding to our questions. She ended the entire affair by praising Dan’s Chinese, an appropriate ending to our two-day ordeal. After all, it was his Chinese that maneuvered us through the affair, bringing us to the tiny pharmacy at the No. 363 hospital, and to the end of our trek through China's hospitals.

Mr. B

        I don't know how many 11 year olds I've met in my life. Can't say I remember the number or their faces, but this is all probably for good reason. Not too impressive those young'ns, mayhaps. B* is different though. B told me on the first day of class to call him Mr. B. B is fucking weird, and brilliant although I don't agree with all of his ideas. My disagreement is irrelevant because I still appreciate his theories and concepts of the world for someone who is still so young. Did I mention he's sick? Not sick physically, but in a twisted-mind-kind-of-way. He's obsessed with nuclear bombs (he brings them up every single class with a big grin on his face), and he has a non-conciliatory stance on the Chinese education system. And he's 11 years old. This is a guaranteed winning combination for the kind of class where one hour passes and you don't even notice because you're too absorbed in the direction that your student's mind is traveling in, and in his simple yet observant view of the world. I don't think I was ever that insightful at age 11. Mom... Dad?

        We were supposed to be discussing the lesson plan. Well, correction, as the teacher I was supposed to be following the lesson plan, but he's 11 years old and the lesson was on making appointments. Seriously? Regardless of his age, B* knows English better than most of the students at WEB, and I knew this lesson would neither be challenging nor interesting for him so I began asking him about his day and school.

        He's currently studying for this Olympic math test you need to take in order to go to high school. All students take this test and their score on this test eventually determines which high school they will be placed into. If you receive a high score, you'll be able to get into a great school, and vice versa: if you do poorly on the test, then you end up at a bad school. I obtained all this information from B. I asked him what makes a “bad school” a “bad school” and he told me that a “bad school” consists of bad teachers and bad students. Bad teachers are people with little to no experience. Good teachers have a lot of experience. Other than the level of experience B did not clearly distinguish the differences between good and bad teachers. Bad students are those individuals with no motivation, and kids who have “problems in the mind” (he's not referring to those who are mentally handicapped) since they show no intelligence, drive, or desire to learn. He went on to say that all the good students go to good schools.

        After he explained this I couldn't help but think the system was quite unfair. It seemed like a perpetual cycle in which students who perhaps need more inspiration and motivation are the ones who are receiving poor quality education. It seems to me that these “good teachers” are needed more in these “bad schools.” B disagreed wholeheartedly and said that “good teachers” simply couldn't teach bad students and that no one could motivate or inspire these bad students. Also, he said that good teachers only know how to teach good students, and don't know how to handle bad students. I scoffed and said that if a teacher was truly good then she should be able to teach anybody, and should try to inspire those who lack motivation.

        I ventured to ask him if he thought that a good score on this math test truly means that you are intelligent and a “good student.” He seemed to think so, even though I told him that some students perhaps need extra attention, aren't good test takers, or may learn at a different pace than other people which might result in them doing poorly on a test. I tried to tell him that a bad score for these individuals doesn't necessarily mean they're bad students or stupid. He understood my point, but he argued that China has way too many people to dish out individual, specialized attention to students who may need it. He went even further and agreed that what I might be saying could be somewhat valid, but argued that there is nothing you can do to change the system, and that's that. He said China's education system is purely based on examination scores, but he contradicted himself a little later and said the Chengdu education department is attempting to instill a quality education system to replace what they have now, which is an examination education system.

        Like I said before, the current system is based on examination scores, even at higher levels of education. For example, before you go to college you have to take an entrance exam which determines which school you'll be able to go, as well as your major. YUP, your major. The better you do on the examination, the more major options you'll be able to choose from. Some people aren't so fortunate and get stuck with obscure majors like the science of plants. I asked him if he thought changing the system was a good idea, and he replied with a resounding “NO.” He thinks that now there are, let's say, at least 10 AMAZING schools in Chengdu, and all the rest are average, but if the system were to change to a quality education system, then the quality of ALL the schools would decrease to be just “good” and those 10 amazing schools would no longer exist. He said that that's worse than having 10 wonderful schools and the rest being okay. He said his parents would be furious, and most parents would be enraged because they want the opportunity for their children to get into these top 10 schools. I asked him what if their sons or daughters received poor scores, and were unable get into these top schools? Then wouldn't everybody in the end want their children to at least get into a good school? Isn't having all good schools in your district, better than just having 10 great ones and all of the rest just average? B disagreed.

        B, B, B... and of course he HAD to somehow sneak the topic of nuclear bombs into the conversation like every single class. B is not going to build a bomb or use it, but he does have a fascination with the idea of nuclear bombs and the nuclear arms race. In fact, B is giving a speech at his school, and he's allowed to choose any topic he wants. You probably have figured out what his topic is by now... Nuclear bombs. Specifically the science behind them and how to build one (I asked him if he ran this idea with anyone at school yet, and he said he hasn't-- go figure). He loves reciting the chemical equation of nuclear fission, and I've probably heard it about 50 times from him (I swear he's not a nut job). WTF? He's done intensive research on nuclear bombs for his upcoming speech, and he definitely knows a lot about them, but I'm not impressed with his keen memory. I'm impressed by his ideas about the nuclear arms race.

         Most people think nuclear bombs are the antithesis of peace (and for good reason too), but B thinks nuclear bombs are essential in maintaing peace on Earth. Well, as B explained, a lot of countries possess nuclear weapons, but although most people possess these weapons, they're too afraid to use them because then other countries might retaliate with their nuclear weapons and then the entire country's people would be fucked. Bye bye. It creates a stalemate in which one country wouldn't dare to use their nuclear weapons in fear that the other country would do the same and wreak chaos (many of us are familiar with this concept). Then another country, perhaps an ally or enemy, might decide to join in on this nuclear tango and use their nuclear weapons, causing a giant nuclear disaster and the end of humankind. Nobody wants that. He also said that smaller countries are protected by the fact that they create and possess nuclear weapons because a bigger country is less likely to attack the smaller country knowing the smaller country has a nuclear stockpile. I've heard that one before, B, but interesting nonetheless coming from an 11 year old. In short he thinks nuclear weapons are absolutely essential in maintaining peace on this planet. Although I can hardly call what we're experiencing now on Earth “peace,” but I won't be picky at the moment.

        Needless to say I had a fun class, and the only new word B* learned was “cadaver,” but I'm not going to get into how that word came up. His English is that damn good though. Most students are constantly writing new words during lessons, but not B. With B you don't know what to expect. You just never know what's going to come out of his 11 year old mouth. So thanks B. Thanks for being unpredictable, firm in your beliefs, and unforgiving. Most of all, thanks for being so talkative and weird.

*Name is shortened to protect the identity of said lovable sicko.

Living in Spicy City

Three distinct characteristics I've uncovered that give this Spicy City its flavor and personality:


Hua Jou---


     “Hua jou” translates to mouth-numbing peppers, and most dishes will be accompanied with these small black balls of FURY AND FIRE. Although I'm getting used to the numbing sensation and the spiciness, I can't stand hua jou in large amounts. It will ruin an otherwise perfect dish of “jja jang mien,” and nothing will rid the taste in your mouth, not even water (I think milk just might do it). The Chinese laugh while they say you're not actually supposed to eat the “hua jou” as if you are being incredibly silly. They say something along the lines of “silly, you're not supposed to eat them! They just add to the flavor of the dish, you should avoid eating them!” 


     Would if I could, but are you kidding me? You can't even see the damn things most of the time because they're so small, and this is especially true when they grind the little guys. It's impossible to avoid eating them when they're literally stuck to all of your noodles from bottom to top, and are the size of dirt flecks. I suppose the Sichuanese have evolved a small compartment in their mouths where their tongue immediately removes the “hua jou” from the food once it enters their mouth and stores it into this said compartment for a form of future personal torture. In reality they are enamored and tolerant of the numbing effects of “hua jou” and most enjoy it while I shudder and try to keep from retching when accidentally biting right through a small ball of “hua jou.” If you can't handle a little bit of spice then you might just end up bursting into flames after trying some of the popular local dishes of Chengdu. I like to keep it real by keepin' it spicy (without the “hua jou,” please).


Personal Space (or the lack of)---


     I'm not a needy person. I don't require a sea of personal space and I don't need it all the time. I like it when people get all up in my space sometimes. I like hugs. I like them firm and tight. Too bad what I experience on a daily basis is nothing like the hugs I enjoy. It's a serious clusterfuck out here, and nobody's going to stop for you. There's just not enough space. It's nothing but hustlin' and bustlin' out there in the concrete jungle. People aren't walking especially fast, but imagine a sidewalk with a lot of people who are walking very slowly-- it gets congested very quickly. You must act like a Chinese person to maintain your dignity and to keep from toppling over. Imitating Chinese behavior encompasses walking aggressively, but not necessarily in terms of speed, and trying not to be too offended when someone treats you rudely out on the streets. Don't afraid to get a little up close and personal and jostle somebody if need be. While waiting to get on the bus, if you're not on the look out, you'll get shoved and cut in the blink of an eye, by not 1 Chinese person, but 5. Be ready to stand your ground and do not budge for the cutters. Edge them out. If they still succeed, and believe me, they will, then politely tell them "WAIT IN LINE!" in Chinese.


     The Chinese don't really have a concept of personal space-- they'll get up in your business without a second thought or an apology. Once someone actually pushed Dan aside so he could read the bus stop schedule. There was no “sorry” or “excuse me” involved, just a quick push and then it was over. I think it stems from the fact that there are so many damn people everywhere and people are so used to being in crowded areas they kind of have to push their way past people and jostle a few others to get where they want to go. What I'm saying is that perhaps it's unavoidable bumping into people because there are so many people out on the streets and on the bus. Maybe sometimes it's simply a lack of manners (I don't know, manners CAN be culturally relative, but this is a whole other blog post in and of itself) but it's fairly common phenomenon so I attribute it to the cultural perception of “personal space” and how the Chinese manage that concept with such a large population.


     A lot of people also use bikes, both electric and regular, and they take over the sidewalks and the bike lanes on the street so you also have to maneuver around those guys in addition to the slow walkers. You'll never find yourself alone on a sidewalk. You'll never walk down the sidewalk or cross a street without the possibility of being run over by a bike or a crazy Chengdu taxi driver. You'll never walk without having to sidestep a walker. You'll also never be waiting in a line without being cut by at least 3 people. My friends, this is Chengdu, for better and for worse.


     You'll also seldom hear silence. I miss hearing absolutely nothing. Instead I hear a lot of incessant honking punctuating short periods of “quiet.” I think at any given minute you will hear multiple honks out in the streets. Even as I sit here typing in my apartment I can hear honks virtually every couple of seconds. A Chinese driver will honk at you to let you know she's driving past you, honk to let you know she's 100 feet behind you, honk to let you know she's not going to stop for you crossing the street, honk to let you know you're in the way (even if you might not be), and honk for whatever both good and bad reason you can think of. I think Chengdu is like NYC on crack. NYC's population is larger than Chengdu's, but it sure feels more crowded and hectic in Chengdu than it does in the Big Apple. I've gone running outside, and now I enjoy the company of a treadmill more (which I used to hate using) because I simply can't run without stopping every 10 seconds for some kind of obstacle. Also people rarely run outside so when you're out for a jog you'll find yourself being stared at as if your 3^rd head just sprouted another head on its side.


Good ol' street barbeque----


     YUM! Once you get off the main streets and venture into the side alleys you'll find yourself walking past street barbeque stands. Street barbeques consist of a grill and a stand/platform with an array of vegetables, meat, and fish speared with wooden sticks for easy handling and eating. The stand usually is attached to a bike. Easy. You can get anything from cabbage, lotus, quail eggs, potatoes, mini buns, whole fish, lettuce stalks, cabbage leaves, chicken, to peppers. It's absolutely ridiculous, and absolutely necessary. 


     Unfortunately the police don't think so and there's been a recent crackdown on street vendors. Street vendors are now banned because of health, cosmetic, and space reasons. The Chinese call the department of police who maintain peace and order on the streets a special word, but I can't remember what it is. The Chinese say this name with scorn and contempt because they're not fond of them. These police people are in charge of keeping food vendors off the street and enforcing traffic rules. Essentially these police people are the most direct form of law enforcement common people encounter daily. Once we were ordering cold noodles from a guy with a stand in front of our apartment and he wheeled away immediately when he saw headlights coming down the street, thinking it was a cop. It wasn't, and he chuckled while he explained and and handed us our $1 cold noodles in a small styrofoam box held shut with a toothpick.


     Back to barbeque. Usually you get a tray or a small basket in which you put in everything you've chosen to eat from the stand. You then hand the tray/basket to the “lao ban” (owner) and he'll count everything up and calculate the price, at which point he'll hand off your basket/tray to the grill master (shitty job as they stand there inhaling all the smoke) who masterfully brushes the veggies, fish, and meat with oil then adds cumin, salt, and some other spices as all the food grills slowly. Meanwhile you're sitting at a small table with dwarf-sized plastic stools that come up halfway up your calf and ask the “waiter” for two cold beers to wash everything down with. The barbequed food is delivered to you on the same tray, and you gobble it up as fast as you can off the wooden sticks and with chopsticks (sometimes this isn't very fast). The food tastes the same in the sense the grill master uses the same spicy coating for all of the food items, but it's still good, and a great, convenient experience. Barbeques are usually set up at night and will continue late into the night for hungry people to stumble upon, and feast. And feast I do.

The P in the PRC

I've got things to share with you. There's no rhyme and reason to the string of events, revelations, and conclusions I've been making since my last post, but the accumulation of said things is solidifying this new, strange country in my mind and in my eyes. In this moving mass-- ants moving from point A to point B-- I'm stringing pieces together, I'm seeing a route behind what seemed like mere wanderings. I'm far from really understanding this complex society, but I'm in a better position than I was when I first arrived in China.

Teaching English is... What is it? I can't honestly describe it as fun, thought-provoking, or interesting... I'm referring to the basic teaching of English vocabulary and concepts. Don't get me wrong, these classes can sometimes be engaging and fun when students choose to be talkative and insightful, but more often than not you plug through the lesson, and try to make a class on “business negotiations” seem interesting. No, what I find interesting are the conversations that somehow sneak into my lessons-- these conversations usually revolve around the Chinese mentality, the Chinese culture, and how American culture perhaps differs from Chinese.

These kinds of topics are what I consider stimulating, and I know my students are more than curious about life in America and Americans. Through these basic conversations I've gotten a feel for Chinese hate towards the Japanese, but also found a student who is learning Japanese, can speak Japanese better than English, and finds the history between Japan and China intriguing and wants to learn more than her history textbooks have fed her (aka the Chinese government). I've also realized the differences between American and Chinese dating culture, and how marriages are viewed by the Chinese. The Chinese think Americans date many people before finally getting married whereas the Chinese only date a few people and then will get married. The Chinese will also bring home their boo if and only if they are going to marry them so you know if you're invited to eat dinner with the parents it's serious. Of course in America it's quite different.

My favorite class is the social club, which I have 4 times a week, because I can choose a topic to teach and discuss with a group of students usually ranging from 4 to 30. I'm ready to admit I like to choose controversial topics, but always making sure to respect Chinese culture and the taboo of directly speaking of government and Chinese politics. I've chosen topics like vegetarianism, the ban on video game consoles, war, the anniversary of 9/11 and the “war on terror”, homosexuality in China, and gun violence and control in China and America. I like to choose these kind of topics because I take pride in knowing I expanded my students' minds and forced them to think about something they may have never thought about on their own.

In return, I learn about what my Chinese students think about the aforementioned topics, helping me understand Chinese culture a little bit better. So I've learned that the Chinese (of course this is a generalization) believe that people aren't entitled to all these rights Americans believe they deserve, such as the right to own guns. There is a nationwide campaign against guns in China, and owning, selling, or producing guns is illegal. The only people who can own guns are law enforcement types-- the military and police. Although guns are illegal, they aren't non-existent, but levels of gun use and production are much, much, much lower in China than in the US. The Chinese hold sacrifice and harmony in higher regard than freedom. For example, they think if someone is secretly gay and has a family perhaps it's better to keep it inside to maintain the happiness and harmony of his/her family. You might think it's because Chinese are fed this kind of propaganda about the importance and virtue of harmony, but they're not completely ignorant. They know it's propaganda, and they certainly don't think having no rights is acceptable either. When it came to the video game ban, they argued that the Chinese government had no right to tell people what to do and that it was a private matter whether or not students were spending too much time playing video games. I learned a lot about what the Chinese think about 9/11 and the American “war on terror”, and was impressed by some students' profound thinking and sensitivity. One of my favorite students Jack (who apparently was the sole survivor on the Chinese “Survivor” TV show) explained how he believes the 9/11 terrorist attack was a result of misunderstanding and fear between two very different cultures. Another student told me she thinks that it was a long time coming because America's unnecessary involvement in everybody else's business. So while the world may think that Chinese people are ignorant and believe everything the government tells them, I have come to find this is completely untrue. Although the Chinese may not know the truth behind an event, they certainly know what they know is a lie. They are completely aware the Chinese government lies, covers up, and feeds its people bullshit. They eat it, noses wrinkled, but they don't swallow and digest. Some even throw it right back up. I guess my question now is how do Chinese people find a balance? How do they operate in such a society, under a government they know is so blatantly disrespectful and dishonest with them? But then again, I guess I can ask myself the very same question about living in America.

I think I even changed the minds of some students on the subject of homosexuality after reading personal stories of 3 homosexuals in China whose lives are very difficult in such a traditional society where most people (the older generation) aren't very accepting of homosexuals. Initially a lot of the students thought that homosexuals are born gay, while some even argued on the “nurture” side and said societal conditions and experiences (perhaps a lack of a father figure or a bad experience with the opposite sex) turn someone gay. After posing the question “Well, those who are straight, do you choose to like the opposite sex? Do you make a conscious decision to like and be attracted to the opposite sex?”, most students sat in silence and I could see the cogs turning in their brains as they seriously considered this question. Then a student raised his hand and said, “I guess it's instinct... I don't choose, it just comes from the heart so it must be the same for homosexuals.” These are the kind of moments that make teaching English worthwhile, it's not the English itself, but communicating and learning and trading different ideas in English.

Through these kind of off-hand conversations I've come to accept that I didn't come to China for the teaching experience. I think teaching has its value in society, but I personally don't think I'm meant to be a teacher, especially an English teacher. I consider myself to have a lot of patience but when a student is at the beginner level I find myself flustered sometimes, and then when I come home to Doodle who is in essence a very active child who doesn't know any better, my patience runs dry. What this experience is turning into though is a cultural experience in which I get to sit down and talk to people. Culture can be a stubborn thing sometimes-- at times culture is obvious and can easily be seen although it may be hard to digest, and difficult to understand at such a surface level. Due to this aspect of culture, you need to provoke it and be relentless. You need to ask people questions because culture speaks volumes through the people it envelopes. Culture is a breathing force, and a very colossal one at that, but it's difficult to discern and identify at times because it's invisible like the wind. At times you can't see it, but you can feel it, pushing you forward, moving you.

Orienting Myself in the Orient

In another life I may have been to Chengdu, or even to China for that matter. I can't shake off this feeling. Everything is new, but nothing feels strange or uncomfortable. It's not a sense of familiarity, it's something else and I wish I could put my finger on it, but I can't-- the feeling just hovers over me while I prowl the city. I walk and walk, and spot small stores that peculiarly sell one good and one good only (air conditioners, gas pumps, safes, curtains, picture frames, and on and on), a vendor who you're separated from by a window selling chicken and goose livers, and drivers ready to mow you down in the middle of the street even though the light is red. (God I hate Chinese drivers, they are their own authority and they listen and respond to absolutely no one). Nothing feels like home, but nothing seems strange or out of place either...

Maybe it's the McDonald's across the street and the pretzel Goldfish I can buy at the store around the corner that don't make me feel completely out of place. I think it has more to do with the people I'm walking amongst who seem... well, just like me. I'm witnessing recognizable motions of life among the crowds of people who are also strolling out on the street (not so much strolling as they are taking baby steps-- FACT: Chengdu people walk so slow I'm hesitant to call it walking and they would never survive the pace of NYC) . Motions of life that are so very familiar: businessmen going to work, dressed up girls meeting friends at a mall, couples sharing a waffle treat at Dairy Queen's, rowdy men drinking Tsingtsao with their shirts pulled up, restaurant owners steaming noodles outside on the sidewalk, a Chinese man in a rush shoving you out of the way while passing, and stray dogs sniffing at garbage and marking poles. I've seen scenes similar to these before in another place, at another time so even though I feel so far away from home, I don't feel entirely like an alien living in a far out planet. I'm more like a space cowgirl. I guess now I'm a space cowgirl tethered to Chengdu since Dan and I have fleshed out a temporary permanent life here. Huh? Are you still following?

We're not living in a hostel anymore after 3 months of sleeping in strange beds in rooms that had constant influxes and outflows of people who smelled differently, who snored loudly, who didn't know how to whisper at 6 AM, and who smoked cigars out on the deck every morning at 5 AM. The last hostel we stayed at was Sim's Cozy Hostel in Chengdu where there were rabbits roaming around sprawling gardens, a menu boasting homemade museli, fried yakisoba noodles, mapo tofu, and baked beans with toast and eggs, an extensive DVD collection (yes! Finding Nemo), and people from all over the world willing to hang out and hear about your adventures as well as share theirs. The world is overflowing with curiosity and those itching to munch on the grass on the other side. The grass definitely is a different green over here.

After about a week-long stint there, I'm casually writing about my experiences on my bright green couch where Dan and I are the only ones in our 2-bedroom apartment (well, okay, Doodle is here too*). The view is mediocre, but the windows provide a generous 135 degree range of vision. The shower isn't separated from the rest of the bathroom (there's just a shower head, but no tub or ledge to keep the water from seeping out to the toilet and to the sink and even out the door) which is annoying, but we have a Western toilet (try shitting in a Chinese toilet every day for a year-- good for your thigh muscles, but a little too uncomfortable for my “Western” ass). The bedrooms aren't very big, but the beds could fit 3 people easily (won't be testing that out). The apartment is just what Dan and I need, and we pounced on it once given the opportunity, especially after the 2 day apartment hunt that ended in confusion and bitterness. The Chinese rental system is completely different from the American's: in China you pay 3- or 6-month increments, or a year upfront. The commission for the apartment broker also costs the same as 1 month's rent. We only found this out at the very end of the process when we were meeting with the landlord and the apartment brokers after Dan and I had found a perfect apartment after viewing 4 the day before. Dan and I didn't have the cash to pay the landlord 6 months upfront (+security deposit+broker's commission), and unfortunately the guy would neither crack a smile nor budge from his payment plan. After that Dan and I decided to go to an apartment complex we knew our workmate lived in to talk directly to a landlord.

It worked and here we are! We had to deal and haggle with an elderly short Chinese man and a plump elderly Chinese lady whose bags were so puffy it kind of looked like the cheeks of a bullfrog when it puffs out. You're probably thinking, they're old, they probably weren't too bad to deal with, old people are usually so nice and calm. FUCK THAT. This Chinese duo was anything but calm-- they screamed and spat trying to outdo each other in voice volume while giving us information about the apartment. They kept calling us the next morning when we were supposed to move in demanding to know where we were (we were on the way, stuck in traffic). They demanded us to pay more and more money upfront, even though we would be paying them that money the next day anyway. They were fucking relentless and so loud I thought they were angry the entire time. I needed an Advil after going through all the details in the contract and signing it; my head was going to explode if I heard another loud Chinese outburst.

At the end of the day though, we now have quite the experience under our belts, and an apartment nestled in between 2 main streets. One main street, People's Road South, is filled with business buildings, couture shops, and a Starbucks whereas the other one, Keuhua Beilu, is populated by local restaurants, bars, and hot pot places. There's quite a difference between the two streets and I think it accurately highlights the direction China is heading. No one can dispute China is quite the cultural haven, you'd be blind not to see it when walking down Keuhua Beilu where you can see many hole-in-the-wall restaurants offering Sichuan's special noodle dish and smell greasy hot pot soup wafting down the street from your favorite hot pot spot. Yet when you walk to its parallel street, People's Road South, you're hard pressed to find the local flavor of Chengdu anywhere. You can find a Western sports bar called “Shamrocks”, a Starbucks, and to Dan's amazement a Western style Grandma's Kitchen (he always had raved about Grandma's Kitchen and their Chinese food so he was really disappointed to find this particular one only offered Western food), Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and skyscrapers filled with hundreds of offices and even more cubicles. You can't even smell the stench of hot pot on this street. The only thing that remains the same as Keuhua Beilu is the aggressive Chinese drivers.

China is becoming quite the consumerist nation as both the government and international businesses try to tap into such an unsaturated market (except the damn beer market-- where's my Hoegaarden?!). I mean there are so many fucking Chinese people, so much potential, so much money to be made that practically every government official and multinational corporation is wielding a giant boner at the possibilities. I think the challenge will be to balance China's distinct history and culture with this consumer culture, and to retain its original cultural uniqueness. I really hope China doesn't whore herself out completely to the sleazy capitalistic, consumerist tendencies that slowly eat away at cultural relevance. I'm hopeful because although China has already adopted free market principles, at the heart of it she holds substance and a distinct essence that set it apart from other countries. When I was in Costa Rica, for example, I didn't feel any real culture. Costa Rica at that point had become quite modernized and developed, and was in fact ashamed of its indigenous history with all its rich culture. The result was that Costa Rica lacked a certain cultural sparkle, although its beautiful nature made up for it. I wanted that living breathing thing I fondly call “CULTURE” because it arouses my senses, piques my interest and curiosity, and opens my mind's horizons. The sad thing about consumer culture is that it looks more or less like any other consumer culture in any other country. When you walk around the streets, it feels the same; they're filled with buying robots constantly wanting more, more of the most expensive, more of the newest, more of the flashiest, more, more, more. The flashing lights of Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Brooks Brothers, Tiffany & Co look the same on People's Road South as they do on Fifth Ave. I want my cramped, dirty restaurant with my fucking delicious, greasy noodles served by a sweaty Chinese man in a wife beater, please.

*I have the cutest dog now. Dan and I were walking down the street after signing our contract with the landlords and stumbled upon 2 people selling very small puppies. There was a particular one we fell in love with, and finding it very hard to walk away from her we bought it for about US $8. The puppy's name is Doodle (named after ChengDU), she's about a month old, and she's a local Sichuan breed. We absolutely love her, and I hope she's falling in love with us too.

Are We Human or Are We Dancers?

Do it in Chengdu. This is the path and motto Dan and I have chosen. After always opting for the unexpected and ditching established plans for newfound ones, I have found that taking that fork in the road you hadn't seen a couple of feet back in the road and somehow stumble upon mysteriously is more often than not rewarding and full of welcome surprises.

Being offered free room and board at the Sunshine International Youth Hostel in Sanya where we originally were staying as guests in exchange for daily English lessons was one of those forks in the road I happened upon. Deciding to stay was a pleasant walk down this forked road, my eyes constantly peeled for new sights and passerbys. After 1 month at this hostel, I can confidently say that the stroll was well worth it. I have made my very first friends in China at this hostel, both foreign and native, and I was surprised how sad I was to leave my temporary home in Sanya.

There were so many unique and silly experiences I encountered on my 1-month stay that come with traveling and random plans. If I hadn't decided to nest for a little bit at the Sunshine Hostel I wouldn't have been able to dance my ass off at the barbeque party that ended up with Jason lighting up a pyramid of mixed drinks on fire while everyone danced with glow sticks in their hands. I also wouldn't have been able to enjoy my first Chinese Valentine's Day when the hostel set up a game night for couples to play.

The first game (well, icebreaker) included a version of “Hot Potato” in which we passed around a Tigger stuffed animal until the music stopped, at which point the person holding Tigger would have to pop a balloon containing a dare written on a small slip of blue paper. I ended up piggy-backing Kevin while running in a circle, watching Mio kiss a table 5 times, smacking Lao Mu's butt (he had to go around the circle and have everyone do this to him), listening to Lao Mu sing in an admittedly very nice voice, laughing at Sylvia who had to pole dance on Kevin (everyone knew Kevin had a crush on her), and watching a guest get his head flicked by everyone in the circle. There were a couple of other games such as a version of Charades, but a verbal kind. By the very end, Dan and I, Alice and Damien, and a Chinese couple were tied to win... The winner would get a special 4-course Valentine's Day dinner (dishes that are uncommon in China-- mashed potatoes, cream of mushroom soup, black pepper chicken, vegetable salad, mango pudding with raspberry puree, veggies wrapped in bacon, and garlic bread) and lychee margaritas. They had me at mashed potatoes. The prospect of such a dinner fueled my competitiveness. For the finals, each couple had to come up with an impromptu 3 minute show whether it be dancing, singing, or whatever. It was a close match. Damien and Alice wooed the crowd with some MJ-imitation dances, juggling, and mock boxing. The Chinese couple did a martial arts skit. Dan and I took the prize though with our matching horsehair cowboy hats, the Macarena, and YES the only freeze I know how to do. The meal was fucking awesome, worth every embarrassing dance, butt-balloon maneuvering, and penguin imitation. It was all worth it for the mashed potatoes.

The days were just as much fun as the nights when we would lay out on the beach and I would attempt day by day to surf, secretly afraid a shark would chomp on my dangling legs. If I had continued any longer, I would've ended up swallowing the ocean whole in failed attempts and nosedives. I love living close to the beach where going for a quick swim in the ocean is always an option and you can feel the sun seeping through your skin, warming up your insides like a fire warms cold hands.

On our last day in Sanya, Dan and I spent the afternoon shopping for gifts for the staff and eating Korean with Damien and Alice for lunch. For dinner, we pigged out at our favorite street barbeque where they make the best grilled veggies, fish, and noodles. A meal can be as cheap as $3. Back at the hostel, some guests, staff, Jason, Dan and I started the night off with a power hour, my first successful one in China and Alice and Damien's first ever. Jason insisted Dan and I could drink beers for free all night since it was our farewell party. He even made us B-52s which were a little intimidating to drink because they were on fire and we had to use straws which went right through the flames! I could've done mine faster... Once we got through that the night ended up with dancing (of course), a Chinese game called “007”, free Sambuca shots, a late night swim/surf session in the ocean, ramen, and free dumplings. Perfect. Free dumplings or not, it wouldn't have been the same without the people that made the hostel what it was, and what it meant to me. Each staff member and guest at the hostel were always so kind (Ina made sure to give me constant medicine when I was sick), so curious (Jason always asking about the American way of saying things), so cute (Mio's way of saying “OH MY GOD”), so funny (Damien's sense of humor and his exchanges with Alice), and so damn memorable (holing up with everyone during the 5 hour blackout during the typhoon). I've had a lot of once-in-a-lifetime experiences in Sanya, the kind that make you feel alive; it was a wonderful introduction to my life here in China, and the potential of friendships and the unlimited kindness of some special Chinese.

Sitting here in Chengdu I can't help but wonder what everyone is doing back at the Sunshine hostel. Kevin is probably up for the night shift. The people in the 8 person room are probably sweating their body weight since the AC is broken. Alice and Damien are probably awake because of the snoring man in their room. At the same time I'm more than excited to start my life here in Chengdu. By life I mean my settled life. Before this I was roaming around China, exploring its nook and crannies, but now in Chengdu it's time to settle down and work out my life here. That means a job, an apartment, a cellphone, a new bank account possibly, yadda yadda.

There's one thing I've really learned from Sanya though, and traveling in general. I'm continuously reminded of this particular lesson the more I travel: you can never judge a book by its cover. People will amaze you, people will anger you, people will make you laugh or cry, and people will surprise you, but they won't be able to do any of those things if you don't give them a chance first. We've all been told this time and time again in our lives, but we're human and we forget sometimes, and we see someone and we automatically make a judgment. It's like a reflex, you can't help it. People are too complex for a quick judgment without context and conversation. We're not that simple, and because of that we deserve more. I've always been working on this, and I truly think I've gotten better, but there are times when I slip. There are specific people I think of who I know I judged too quickly in Sanya, but I'm too embarrassed to write about it here in fear they will eventually read it and figure out it's them. Once I gave them 10 minutes though, I quickly found that I was wrong about them. All I have are apologies, an apology for thinking I knew who they were and what they were about, when in reality I didn't know the first thing about them. I short-changed them. Traveling and meeting new people is quite humbling in this aspect. Like I always say, everybody's got a story.

Lao Mu

This story is adapted from an interview with Mu Rui Chen, or "Lao Mu" (Old Mu) as we fondly call him at the hostel. He's the chef at the hostel and he's 22 years old. This is his story:

Lao Mu's Specialities. Yes, Lao Mu's Specialities. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think? The name even sounds tasty, like how a double fudge brownie with chocolate chips and sugar powder sprinkled on top would taste. Maybe I'd bake those at Lao Mu's Specialities. Girls would love that-- they're suckers for sweets, and especially chocolate. Why do you think I want to open up Lao Mu's Specialities? For the girls! My flabby stomach that screams “I LOVE FOOD! NOM NOM NOM” sure isn't going to win over any girl right away. It's gotta be brownies, cookies, and cake. Alright I'm not that girl obsessed; I've got another love. Cooking. I've always loved cooking. I remember frying my first egg when I was 8. It wasn't the kind of fried egg that just anyone would be proud of, it was a little burnt and took the shape of a manatee, but to an 8 year old, it tasted like a miracle, and by the time I was 17 I realized I wanted to cook as a career. So that's the muse behind my current dream: Lao Mu's Specialities. It would be a small restaurant in Beijing where I'd cook Chinese food, Western food, and anything else I think tastes good or I can cook well. A restaurant is the dream of most chefs because cooking for yourself is satisfying, but cooking for others is rewarding. I want to share my dishes with other people and give them the flavors and spice of Lao Mu. If you want to get at the root of it though, my true speciality is baking and that would be the real gem of Lao Mu's Specialities.

I love baking the most for three reasons. The first reason is that girls love it! Like I said before, girls are a sucker for baked goods, so why not be a sucker for the baker? I'd make a girl very happy with my lemon mousse. Lemon mousse is the best because of its sour taste. Now, you get easily sick of chocolate mousse because it's oily and very heavy, but not the lemon mousse. You could eat that day and night, and then some. The second reason is that my grandparents are Muslim so they originally wanted me to find a place to cook where I wouldn't have to cook pork. It's hard to find a place like that, but with baking it's really easy to avoid meat. I'm a Muslim myself, but a bacon-loving kind (I know there are more of you out there), so I don't know what that makes me. The third and last reason is that I have the most experience in baking. I've only been studying cooking for 5 years, and I originally started making regular Chinese dishes, and had only been making desserts for a year before I started my job at the international school in Beijing where I was the pastry chef for 2 years. My chef friend heard about the job from his friend, but my friend can't make desserts so he thought of me and introduced me to the job. I went for it thinking I'd take a big bite of the sweet glazed doughnut that is life.

Life was simple and straightforward working at the international school. I'd make croissants and doughnuts in the morning, and in between breakfast and lunch I'd have snacks available for the kiddies. The teachers also had a party every week and I'd make pastries for their parties. Once I made chocolate cakes in the shape of spiders for Halloween, they looked so life-like some kids were afraid to eat them! After 2 years though I decided to leave the job when my friend, Terry, told me about the job here in Sanya. I came here for the freedom. There's more of it here. If I want to add something new on the menu, I can just put it on. I don't have to consult my boss. In the international school the boss controlled my dishes, and wouldn't let me add certain things even if I wanted to. At the most basic level, I'd want to add certain garnishes to make the dish look nicer, but my boss would order me not to, and would tell me to add something else. I didn't have complete control of the foods I cooked, which is important to me. I cook for the reactions of the people who eat my food and say “DAMN, this tastes good!” and if I don't have control it feels like the dish I ultimately serve isn't my own. These kinds of comments are really important to me because they make me proud of my work. Even if I'm dead tired, making food that I know people are going to like restores me. Cooking and food itself are energizing because food to me is both freedom and growth.

Cooking and my conception of food have evolved the more I study it. You know, I didn't go to college. I started working and studying cooking at 17, and have learned a lot since then. After studying Western food, I started thinking about food as a way to stay healthy, especially when I was studying the salad. The Chinese don't have anything like the salad, which tastes good and is healthy. The only bad thing I've come to find is that sometimes when you eat Western food, you can't get full, but maybe that's because my stomach is home to a troll who eats all my food and leaves nothing for my own stomach. I've also learned that although Chinese food tastes good, some of the food is too oily and it's not good for your body. I think I could improve Chinese cuisine with a lot less salt and oil. Also, a lot of people in China use sewage oil to save money, which is disgusting and a disgrace to the food they cook. Those peoples' hearts are black. I could never use sewage oil because I'd be disrespecting my dishes and those I serve my food to.

The art of food is so vast and you can go to so many places with food, locations that both exist and don't in space; there are so many types of cuisine to be tasted and studied! If I ever get a chance to go abroad, I'd want to go to France and Turkey to learn their cuisine. I really want to learn French, Turkish, and even more of Chinese cuisine. If I have any time, I'd learn in Beijing because there are a lot of French restaurants where I could learn how to cook French food. French food is extremely exquisite, and they pay a lot of attention to the aesthetics of food, which I really like and want to incorporate into my own cooking. I'm not a personal fan of Turkish food, but I know that people really enjoy it and the way they make food is very good.

Everyone has a natural talent, and I think I've found mine in cooking. I think anybody can cook, but some people are more natural at cooking than others. In my case, I'm able to pick out a couple of things and add a little bit of this flavor and a little bit of that, and I can achieve what I want just by relying on my senses and not by anything I've learned in particular. The beauty of cooking is that you can always tweak something and improvise, and end up with something you even surprise yourself with, something completely unexpected.

The Bitter Draught

Since the Norwegian bombing and shooting spree, many writers have commented on several aspects of this bombing. Some have remarked that we should use this incident as a reminder that domestic terrorism is just as a prevalent threat as “Islamic” terrorism. Others have pointed out how initially it was believed that Al-Qaeda perpetrated the attacks. Glenn Greenwald and others like him noted society's tendency to immediately think of “Islamic” terrorism when the word “terrorism” comes to mind. Still others have remarked the usage of the words “extremism” and “terrorism”, and how in this case it's extremism, not terrorism. Others have said vice versa: it is indeed still terrorism.

A lot has been said about this devastating tragedy, and the man behind it, but I haven't read much on the anti-Muslim sentiment and multiculturalism hate that drove this man to commit such a heinous deed. Indeed this NYT article describes how Anders Behring Breivik “was deeply influenced by a small group of American bloggers and writers who have warned for years about the threat from Islam, lacing his 1,500 page manifesto with quotations from them, as well as copying multiple passages from the tract of the Unabomber.” This passage highlights the most striking facet of this incident: the feeling the perpetrators of 9/11 had towards America is the same motivating force behind Breivik's actions. That feeling is hate. 9/11 and the Norwegian incident are by no means the same in origin, magnitude, or religious motivation. I'm not saying they are the same. I'm pointing out that both events do, however, share one thing in common: deep-rooted hate. Some might say that the Muslim world has a right to hate us because America has always treated them poorly with no respect. No matter how true or untrue, America did not deserve what it got on 9/11, and in the end hate is hate, no matter what justification someone comes up with. Sadness still feels like sadness, happiness like happiness, and anger like anger. The hate that drove the airplanes into the World Trade Center is the same shade as the hate that planted the bombs in the Norwegian government buildings and pulled the trigger that unleashed bullets on many innocent children. Hate comes with a cost, and we Americans have drank that bitter draught. We paid for that hate with lives, but we're blind to see that our own hate is also costing lives. Our hate is also killing. Our hate is ruining us, and the country. We hate just as much, if not more, than the terrorists hated us on 9/11, and probably still do. What good is this hate, especially when we target innocent Muslims who are being punished daily for their belief in a certain ideology? They didn't even do anything. What are we teaching other people? Well, it seems to me that we now know. We're teaching people like Breivik that it's okay to hate and feed our hatred to others through blogs, conversations, the shadows of our lives, and etc.

Some people have blamed these anti-Muslim bloggers for the tragedy in Norway, but I believe Breivik already had this hate instilled in him prior him reading these kind of blogs, he wanted an echo chamber. These anti-Muslim bloggers fanned the flame though, and showed Breivik there are others that hate just as much as he does, and that Muslims are indeed something to be hated, and worthy of their hatred. Another awful thing about hate is that it spawns more hate, more lives, and more pain. It's usually innocent people who must suffer the consequences of hate and intolerance. The bloggers might not have directly caused the bombings and shooting, but their hands are not entirely clean either. Then again, the hate that your grandmother, your barber, your dry cleaner, or your teacher has for their Muslim neighbor also makes their hands dirty. The hate that provoked Breivik was enflamed by these bloggers, and made it seem okay to hate Muslims, perhaps even making it seem that it was okay to bomb and shoot innocent civilians for this hate-- to get attention to his cause. In the end, I'm not blaming the bloggers for Breivik's actions, he alone must be responsible for his own actions. What I am sure of though is that hate and intolerance against Muslims (which has been normalized in American society), or anyone else for that matter is dangerous and costly, and if we want to avoid events like the one in Norway and 9/11, we must teach and show our peers that it's not okay to hate. We must try to love, and treat others like we would want to be treated ourselves.

Terry

I'm planning on starting a blog project. The project will consist of several posts, each on someone I've chanced upon meeting during my travels in China. I believe everybody's got a story, and I intend on sharing theirs with you, here. This is the first.

Dan and I interviewed Yu Chen (aka Terry) today for about half an hour, which is how long it took me to read off the questions I had written for the occasion, and for Dan to translate my questions to Chinese and Terry's answers to English.

I adapted this story from that interview with Terry who currently works at the hostel. Terry is 22 years old, and this is his story:

I thought he was mad. The insane kind of mad. At the time his suggestion seemed impossible, yet the words stared at me, blazing from the computer, both challenging me and provoking my will. It turns out later that I was the crazy one, taking his suggestion and leaving my well-established barbeque stand in Beijing to head to Sanya on bike with the very man who had dared to test my will. The journey would total 6,000 kilometers and would take about 2 months. The numbers didn't scare me though, in fact they kind of electrified me. My friend and I had carefully planned out the route, making sure to hit up several large cities on the way. By no means did we take the shortest route. We all learn in geometry that the shortest route is a straight line between two points, but the one we were taking was zigzagged-- looping in and out of the vastness that is China. If we were going to do this at all though, then we had to do it right. RIGHT? We weren't taking this trip for comfort or luxury. We were going to bust our balls, so we chose the scenic route, however much longer it may take. Bikes aren't allowed on highways in China so we had to take the country roads. I was on my fixed gear yellow bike and he on his orange mountain bike. I would be the first person in China to make this trek from Beijing to Sanya on a fixed gear. This thought alone excited me, and drove me to this madness. That and my friend's suggestion of course. I had even met this friend in a peculiar way.

We had only known each other for about a week, but we became fast virtual friends in that time. Through our online conversations, I found out that he was a 30 year old reporter. It's common to meet friends online in China. After about a week of chatting, he proposed the idea of biking together from Beijing to Sanya. Ten days after his proposal, I found myself on the road, pedaling with Beijing's skyline on my back alongside my new friend. We left on April 19^th. We would wake up at around 8 AM every day and bike until it became too dark to navigate, biking around 8 to 10 hours every day. We didn't stop except to eat and to rest. We would always try to set up what hotels we would be staying at for the night in whatever city we would be in. If we didn't do this, we would be roaming around the dark looking for one and this was very dangerous.

It took about 4 to 5 days to get from one city to another so I found myself sleeping in townships many of which were a lot dirtier, messier, and more dangerous and corrupt than bigger cities tended to be. I didn't carry anything to protect myself with, but my friend was strong so I felt safe with him. You'd think it would've gotten lonely with just 2 people, but we met so many new friends along the way that I never felt such loneliness.

In Chengdu, I had talked to a person living there before and had planned ahead to meet him when we arrived. He was part of a biking team, and when I arrived he welcomed me and introduced me to his favorite spots and good friends. We traveled with him for part of the way, and to this day we're still very good friends. For most of the cities, I'd try to get in contact with local biking groups. These groups aren't prevalent in big cities, but I tried to get in contact with a group in each city before we set out from Beijing.

I would be a liar if I called the journey easy; there were many bumps in the road [pun intended]. My bike had a lot of issues because the country roads can get really bumpy and a lot of foresight was needed to plan in order to avoid problems like the one we experienced in Kumming. We had been on the road for 12 hours traveling west from Guiyang to Kumming and the sun had already set, which was an issue because we hadn't found a place to sleep yet. We were already exhausted because we had been biking uphill for most of the time, which is difficult on a fixed gear. Fixed gears are much more fitting for riding through cities, not for biking cross-country like we were doing. Anyway, we kept looking but we couldn't find a hotel. We ended up stumbling upon a really poor village where there was a shitty shack someone rented out to us for the night. A lot of people think I'm crazy when I tell this story because I could've easily taken a plane and gotten to Sanya in a matter of hours. But I say fuck that! What's the fun in that? It's too easy to take other forms of transportation, you get to your destination in a couple of hours or a day. On a bike, you get to take in the sights better and so you get to experience a lot more. You get to feel every place's atmosphere, truly feel it on your skin, in your bones, but when you're in a car you just pass right on by a place and don't even notice it. Biking such a distance seemed crazy, but it also seemed right for me. Biking is not exactly a special interest for me, it's just something I wanted to experience. I'm not particularly good at it either. I mean I biked every day in Beijing since the city's so crowded and because I wanted to preserve the environment.

Doing this biking trip was just one experience I wanted to have, and there are still so many others. It was a great experience and I knew it would be, and that's why I committed myself to this 2 month 6,000 kilometer trek. I like to do things that people haven't done before. Right now I haven't done anything that other people haven't, except this bike trip on fixed gear, but I plan on continuing endeavors like this: things people haven't done. At the moment I'm planning on being a good surfer and learning how to surf here in Sanya. There aren't many good surfers in China. I think there are about 100 good surfers in all of China and considering the population, that's nothing. In 4 or 5 years, I want to be snowboarding as well. I don't do these things in hopes that surfing or snowboarding will become more popular in China, I do it for the sake of my own experience. Life is just a collection of these experiences-- the bolder the better, the newer the more exciting, the less tried the more satisfying.

I stayed in Sanya for a little when I finally made it to the tropical island some call the “Hawaii of China,” and stayed at Sunshine Hostel where I met the owner, Jason. He is, in ways, just as ambitious me – I like that. The staff was great here, really friendly, and I found out that they didn't have a permanent chef here. The cogs started turning in my head... When I returned to Beijing from Sanya, I stayed there for only 10 days, which was enough time to convince my friend (and practicing chef) Mu Rui Chen – or Old Mu for short – to return to the island with me. He had some experience cooking at an international school, and even worked at a restaurant in Beijing, and I knew he would light up at the offer to work in a quieter, cleaner, and sunnier city than Beijing. I knew he'd be a perfect fit for Sunshine Hostel. I made the arrangement with Jason before I left: I'd set them up with a new chef and Jason and I would practice surfing together.

I returned to Sanya because it was too coincidental and I took it as a sign from above that they didn't have a chef. I believe in destiny; I think it controls everything. If I hadn't come to this hostel, I wouldn't have met you guys, and if I had stayed at a different hostel, I wouldn't have been able to bring Old Mu back as the new chef. The bike trip had everything to do with who I am and where I am at this exact moment. Now I'm going to be in Sanya for 1 or 2 more years, practicing surfing every day and working at the hostel. I'm making money and saving it to do things I like to do. I really like traveling. I want to travel all around the world. I don't even know where I want to go to the most. Everywhere is beautiful. I want to go to America eventually and do a cross-country road trip. My biggest dream is to sail across the world. I read a book about a guy who did that. He set out from Shangdong, and his trip took a little bit more than 1 year. I think that's very special, but it's pretty dangerous to do it all by yourself. I really admire him because it's dangerous and there's a lot of things you can't expect. But I bet he took this trip for the very same reason I took mine: to make a lot of new friends and see a lot of new places, and most of all, for the experience.

But seriously

[Before you read this, I want to assure you all I won't be deported or get in trouble by Chinese authorities. I asked a Chinese computer software developer staying at the hostel if it was okay to write about such things in China even if it's about the United States. He said it's fine as long as I'm not rallying people in China to do this here, which I'm not. The most serious thing they'll do is delete this if it even gets to government-level, which he says is very doubtful so don't worry.]

I secretly want to start a revolution in the United States. Those who know me well know this about me. This desire stems from wanting to change the broken system that serves nobody but the powerful and the rich and continues to trample on everybody else's rights and needs. I could go on and on about specifics, but if you understand this desire, then I think you also probably know what I'm talking about. Just read the news. It's everywhere. We have become a greedy nation with no morals and conscience, and we live by no principles. We live by a Constitution which is interpreted for individual benefit and gain. Our president, a Constitutional scholar, could even use some brushing up on some of the basics in the Constitution. Our voting system creates the stupid two-party gridlock we're currently stuck with. Our votes are just pieces of paper, we still don't have any power over what's going on over there on Capitol Hill. Legislators are too protected by their long terms. There are many institutional fractures, and only institutional changes and creating a new system will remedy the failures of our current system. The problem is that the institution itself sure isn't going to make these changes, they benefit too much from the brokenness. The only way is if we demand it, and show those in power that governments can't suppress the power of the people. They work for us. Changing the system. Reform. What a feat. Impossible some would say, but I'm an idealist and my mind just doesn't function in this way. If you start out thinking that way, then it truly is impossible, you leave no room for possibilities and potential. I think this is how they want you to think.

I've been inspired by people like Howard Zinn and his “A Power Governments Cannot Suppress”, and I'm currently reading Henry David Thoreau's “Civil Disobedience”. They believed reform is possible and that governments exist to serve the people, and not the other way around. I will show no respect for any institution that doesn't deserve it. A government can't just command respect and obedience from its citizens: it needs to give us reasons why we should respect it, and why we should support it. As Thoreau points out, it is our duty to “... make known what kind of government would command his respect, and that will be one step toward obtaining it.” Of course there are many people, journalists like Glenn Greenwald (much respect) who already do this, but there are plenty who write about it, and gripe and pleasure in griping about the injustices of the government, but not one who stands up and demands for revolution, for reform. Not one who marries her words to her actions. Thoreau has helped me realize this. To our credit, it's difficult. It is true there is no built-in way in which revolution is possible in the Constitution or in the American system. Revolutions can be tumultuous, but not all revolutions require blood to be shed for it to be complete. What the Constitution does allow is the right to petition. But I ask what good does petitioning do? How much does it do? A petition will not force the government to do what the people want it to do. I think this is a disadvantage of the Constitution-- it doesn't provide an avenue for true reform. The government is too stubborn to acknowledge that it is failing for a lot of people. I think once something fails, like our current capitalist system did, that it's time to see what went wrong and change those things. It's hard when we have a system as entrenched as ours currently is, but we're humans, we keep on adapting-- that is how we survive. Thoreau puts it in this way:

How can a man be satisfied to entertain an opinion merely, and enjoy it? Is there any enjoyment in it, if his opinion is that he is aggrieved? If you are cheated out of a single dollar by your neighbor, you do not rest satisfied with knowing you are cheated, or with saying that you are cheated, or even with petitioning him to pay you your due, but you take effectual steps at once to obtain the full amount, and see to it that you are never cheated again.

If the government refuses to listen to its people who demand basic services like healthcare (a human right), then how can a citizen respect this government when the government barely respects its citizens. The government asks and asks of us, asks us to pay taxes so it can shed blood and strengthen the military machine, and it asks us to be loyal, but without giving us any reason. We're like servants now, providing an allegiance to our country and even fighting in a war that perhaps our heart does not find true-- in a war that's disguised with lies, a war in which the government does not mind sacrificing a soldier's life if it means we have more oil. The government can't even be honest with us. A government that can treat its people like that deserves no respect. Thoreau again: “the mass of men serve the state thus, not as men mainly, but as machines, with their bodies.”

I know what a good government would look like, although I'm not entirely sure on how to go about it. A good government would respect its people, protect them, not send them away in a fruitless war to secure oil stores. A good government would wants its people healthy and happy, and would ask the richest, most privileged to help provide happiness and security for those who cannot. A truly good government would “anticipate and provide for reform” (Thoreau). Most importantly, the government would “encourage its citizens to put out its faults, and do better than it would have them.” Yet it doesn't listen to us, we're not men and women, but subjects. I'm not happy with what our government does, and so I want to stop providing allegiance and support for it because I cannot agree with its principles or actions any longer. But how? What does a 21^st bloodless revolution look like in America? Thoreau offers these statements in “Civil Disobedience”, which I will leave for you as food for thought:

“Must the citizen ever for a moment, or in the least degree, resign his conscience to the legislator? Why has every man a conscience then? I think that we should be men first, and subjects afterward.”

“Action from principle, the perception and the performance of right, changes things and relations; it is essentially revolutionary, and does not consist wholly with anything which was.”

“Let your life be a counter-friction to stop the machine. What I have to do is to see, at any rate, that I do not lend myself to the wrong which I condemn.”

“If a thousand men were not to pay their tax bills this year, that would not be a violent and bloody measure, as it would be to pay them, and enable the State to commit violence and shed innocent blood. This is, in fact, the definition of a peaceable revolution, if any such is possible.... When the subject has refused allegiance, and the officer has resigned from office, then the revolution is accomplished.”

Now I ask you this. What can we do? How can we start a revolution? How can we speak as one nation, and demand a better government? Don't say we can't. Look at the youth in Egypt who overturned their government, look at the inspiration of people like Nelson Mandela, or Martin Luther King Jr. I'm sure countless people told them it couldn't be done, but it was done. I have a whole year in China to think about this. Thoreau suggests an action like not paying your taxes, even if it means you'll go to jail for it. Just men can be sent to jail. Yet for a mother or father who has a family to worry about, how can this be asked of them? Or someone who is trying to finish college? It seems almost impossible... but there will be those who will anyway. If not this, what other ways? What would we want? What do we need exactly? I'd appreciate your comments and thoughts on the matter. These are questions I am thinking about myself and will continue to do so. I know reform like this doesn't happen overnight, it requires careful thinking, consideration, and planning, but perhaps something can be done. By no means is America's government the worst. In fact the government and its origins is a rare thing, and it was built upon strong, admirable ideals, but we've come a long way from those initial intentions and America deserves better. I think the American people deserve a better government, a more honest one-- one with a conscience. I don't want to complain anymore like Thoreau cautions against, I want to take action.

“Cast your whole vote, not on a strip of paper merely, but your whole influence.”