A Seaside Fourth

Quite unintentionally, I passed another Fourth of July in China last week. This year's festivities went down near the oceanside city of Dalian, China's northernmost "ice-free seaport."

That morning we had risen, again, on an all-night sleeper train and thereby began a week of rapid travel throughout Liaoning and Shandong Provinces. After arriving at Dalian's train terminal, which disappointingly looks like every single other train terminal in China, we were hustled onto our tour buses and taken to our hotel farther down the coast. Much of Dalian's fascinating history was unbeknownst to us.

As it turns out parts of Dalian, or "Port Arthur," were occupied briefly by the British. During the Sino-Japanese War it came under Japanese control. Later the Russians obtained rights to it, and it became Russia's largest trading city on the Asiatic coast, linked by rail to the Trans-Siberian line until the Japanese again invaded. Immediately after Japan's surrender in 1945, the area passed into Soviet control. Only in 1955 did the last Soviet soldiers pull out, leaving the city to Chinese authority. But, like with many things in China, Dalian's outer appearance gave little indication of such an exciting or tumultuous recent history.

My only view of Dalian proper came when I volunteered to pick up 75 KFC orders for the group with our tour guide. Before boarding the ferry to cross the Yellow Sea towards Shandong, our American-born caucasian guide Shane took three of us on the hurried lunch-mission. The ferry had docked much farther from the city than he anticipated, so we had precisely ten minutes in the city to pick up our waiting order before taxiing back to the industrial-looking ferry port. Again, though, the city appeared superficially the same as every other large Chinese city I have seen.

But I didn't mind because the day before we had enjoyed a pleasant day of swimming in the ocean. I had never expected, ever, to go swimming in a Chinese body of water. It proved too tempting, however, and I am still healthy a week later. Our crumbling hotel happened to face a surprisingly aesthetic rocky beach, just a few hundred yards from a man-made sandy beach occupied by several Russian tourists.

It was also a day for other firsts - my first visit to a Chinese theme park. Visions of dilapidated death-traps were dismissed when I beheld the impressive facility, known as "Discoveryland" (发现王国). It is something of a cross between Disneyland and Six Flags. For example, "Discoveryland" is written in the same font as is "Disneyland," and there is a large tower in the middle with turrets. The roller-coasters were very modern, and at least on-par with those at Six Flags in the United States.

We are travelling in Shandong with limited Internet Access this week - posts will resume on the 12 of July. Thanks for checking in!

Swine Flu

China has taken the Swine Flu seriously. Perhaps for no reason, perhaps for good reason, perhaps to make amends for poor performance the SARS outbreak, China is taking the H1N1 Flu far more seriously than the United States.

Our screening began on arrival at Beijing airport. Before disembarking, several individuals in white coats raced down the aisles beaming each and every passenger with a little laser-like thermometers. Without touching an individual, they can aim it at his or her forehead and get a temperature reading. Any passenger with above-normal temperature is grounds for suscpicion and likely to be quarantined. Most famously, the mayor of New Orleans (like all of the other passengers on the flight) was quarantined in his Shanghai hotel for three days due to one suspected passenger.

For seven days, our Chinese group leaders took our temperatures and recorded our health data. We were also forbidden from eating at the same times as other students until the full week had passed. Fortunately for the group, everyone was healthy for the duration.

Pumping Iron at Hei Da

The language program is not quite as intense I had expected. We’ve therefore been able to exercise regularly, sometimes making use of the university’s weightroom. The first time we tried to visit the weightroom, at 6am one morning, we learned that it didn’t open until 9am and closed at 6pm. While there are reports of another weightroom somewhere on the campus, this particular one has a lot of “character”; or rather, I should say there are a lot of unhealthily jacked “characters” pictured on numerous posters throughout the sparsely equipped facility.

One of our classmates, a former navy guy pictured in brown shirt, happens to have devoted much of his life to strength training and fitness. While he was unable to join the Seals due to an accident, he has been the drill sergeant for a motley group of us who know very little about strength training. His military intensity seems to threaten the guys who man the sign-in desk, and a little bit of a turf war has escalated over the kind of music that gets played whenever we come. The attendants have insisted that Chinese patrons do not appreciate songs with English lyrics.

Street shoes are not supposed to be worn in the weight room. Therefore, just before getting to the weightroom, we change into flip flops and carry our street shoes in. Once inside, we switch out the flip flops for the same dirty sneakers. Once shoed and signed-in, one will quickly notice the lack of large weights. This always serves to make me feel particularly strong and athletic - I can quite comfortably handle the heaviest weights that they have.

While ordinarily the lack of heavy weights might be a problem, Sean’s style (having a heavy dose of cross fit) is based more on high numbers of repetitions, not pure weight. Unlike most travelers to China, Sean happened to bring enough medical tape to create a medicine ball using sand from a nearby construction lot. Frequently he will also pull out unusual exercise equipment like hanging handles for the pull-up bars, stretchy rope for stretching, etc. He also brought the soundtrack to 300. We enjoyed listening to it today until the attendant switched it out surreptitiously.

Harbin Tea House

As part of the Critical Language Scholarship, each student receives 1400 RMB (~$200) to spend over the course of 8 "social activity outings." Once a week, we do something expensive with our teacher, teaching assistant and classmates. Today, we ate at a relatively fancy restaurant, then met up with another class at a tea garden. I'll explain huo guo in a later post for the uninitiated.

People in Northeast China don't drink as much tea as elsewhere in China. But nevertheless, we enjoyed several hours sampling two very expensive teas in a two-level building where they had, refreshingly, made the effort to give some atmosphere of antiquity and tradition.

Our teachers ordered the tea, probably according to price, for Uncle Sam was footing the bill, and we have a quota to burn through with only five short weeks left. A waitress returned with the leaves and presented a short introduction to serving tea. I didn't understand most of it, because she spoke very quickly in Chinese. But basically, she rinsed everything thoroughly with boiling water, added the leaves, rinsed the leaves with boiling water, refilled the pot, then poured each person a small smelling cup (wen xiang bei) of tea. She then inverted this small cup over top of another tiny bowl, as if performing a physics demonstration of suction. After each of us received a mini-bowl with inverted smelling cup, we lifted up the smelling cups and smelled them.

Tasting tea, it seems to me, is much like tasting wine. To the uninitiated, it's completely unknown territory - that is, if there is even some objective territory out there. Nevertheless, we smelled it. Our first tea was Oolong (乌龙 wūlóng) from Fujian and it tasted very similar to green tea. We raised the micro-bowls one time each to chang, hui, and ping.

Each of the Chinese in our group, including the waitress, had a different opinion about the differences between Green, Oolong, Red, and Black Teas. Trying to get firm answers on this question was kind of like asking a group of Americans: "What constitutional amendments make up the bill of rights?" Everyone knew it was their patriotic duty to have an answer, but ultimately, an answer wasn't forthcoming. In the end, I think Oolong is basically the same type of tea leaf as the others, just harvested at a different time and dried differently. Green tea leaves are the first harvest, followed by Oolong, then the Red tea leaves (which is the more heavily caffeinated kind that we drink mostly in the West). If you know anything about tea, please share any insights by commenting to this post.

Our bill for ten people came out to 1,000 RMB, a rather high figure when one considers that my dinner last night was 10 RMB and my breakfast was 3 RMB. But our leaves are waiting for us in a special case at the tea garden, so that we can return within a period of time and reuse them for a small fee.

Russian Doll Park

This part of China was very close to Russia. Here is a photo of a park near the border, just outside of Man Zhou Li, still in Inner Mongolia. A pseudo-Russian city, lots of Chinese tourists, some Russian businessmen, and a Russian-doll themed park are all on the Chinese side of the border. It was unclear whether the Russian dolls (ranging in decoration motif from traditional Russian to Disney to Jesus Christ) were meant to welcome Russian tourists into China, or whether they were meant to provide Chinese tourists with a taste of Russian culture. Either way, I'm not entirely convinced that the park served either of these possible goals.

On the northern side, there is nothing in sight but open grass fields. As far as I can gather from google maps, we were several hundred miles from Irkutsk, a territory notable in my mind only for its inclusion in the game “Risk”.

The Chinese side of the border, again, was well-populated with visitors and included a Communist party history museum. For half a kuai, visitors could use the WC, and for half a kuai more, they can obtain several sheets of TP. The Chinese crossing featured a very large, inverted “U” shaped structure that crossed over the railroad tracks leading into Russia (see top photo). It would appear that the Chinese were trying to outdo the Russian version of this building (see lower photo).

Because most Chinese don’t readily have the opportunity or interest in traveling abroad, visiting national border crossings is fairly popular. I had a nice chat with one of the security guards at the gift shop. He warned against visiting Russia – a place, in his mind, of disorder where people could go around shooting guns willy-nilly and breaking laws. One of my classmates in the program, who had spent a lot of time in Russia, agreed with him on that point.

Another night on the train brought us back safely to Harbin. Our normal Monday morning classes were postponed to the afternoon, and everyone enjoyed some necessary recuperation.

Waterless Lakes

Sunday morning began, as usual, without the faintest trace of religious significance. After a jarring wake-up call, we all mustered for breakfast in the hotel dining room, and then boarded the familiar buses. That day, it had been said, we were going to paddle on one of China’s largest inland lakes. Sometimes, the head guide told us, wind blew from the wrong direction, making the lake too shallow for boats.

Thirty minutes later, we were tumbling down a mud track in my first off-roading bus experience. Off to our right, groups of peasants were slowly working away at a new highway that would presumably bring future tourists to the lakeside resort area. Periodically, the bus would jar to the left or right to avoid hitting a grazing cow or sheep.

Finally, now quite impressed not only with the driver’s audacity but also with the versatility of our bus, we popped over the last hill and beheld a vast expanse of lake. An audible “Whoaa!” rose from the passengers, as we beheld a limitless expanse of gray flatness. But closer examination revealed not an actual lake, but an enormous muddy flatland where a lake had once been. There was not a boat in sight. Instead, an enormous, rainbow-colored umbrella rose out of the flats about two hundred yards out from the cement board walk.

Even closer observation discovered a string of ponies and a cluster of four-wheeler go-karts parked halfway out to the umbrella. Clearly, there had been no water for a long period of time – long enough for some enterprising fellow to collect a fleet of 4-wheelers and for another man to build a sign saying how much it cost for pony and camel rides. When I asked one kabob salesman about the lack of water, he shook his head depressingly and muttered something about the water disappearing three years ago. He was quite happy to tell me though about his son who was at a university in California, though I had to reassure him multiple times that California’s universities were better than Qinghua University.

Some said that rainfall had fallen off while others mentioned something about a large factory elsewhere on the lake. Our guide, it seemed, had not been entirely up-front with us about the lake. But nevertheless, none of us would have passed up that morning. Partly because none of us could actually make any sense of what we were seeing – a lakeside resort town with no water in the middle of Inner Mongolia – a large rainbow-colored umbrella in the distance – and nationalistic music emanating from the kitchen of a nearby restaurant.

China - The true melting pot?

After soaking up our dose of authentic cultural exploration, we bused back to the city of Man Zhou Li and checked into our hotel. The city was unprecedented from my experience in China – every building was brightly colored, clean, and constructed with the façade of Russian architecture – a ploy to draw Russian tourists and business from across the border, which was only 5 miles away. There was even an enormous Russian Orthodox church standing on a hill just outside of town, complete with fake flying buttreses.

Standing under the impressively powerful showerhead of the plush hotel, it was odd to think about having ridden a train, a bus, a magic carpet, a fake soviet tank, a horse, and a camel on the same day. Sitting with other classmates at a table in the hotel’s disco club later that night, it was even stranger to reflect on the glitzy neon lights that trimmed the ceiling and lit up the dance floor. They were probably powered by one of the enormous coal plants we drove by earlier in the day.

It was tempting to wish that the forces of

modernity and cultural imperialism had not yet infiltrated the “purity” of Inner Mongolia and its nomadic heritage. It’s very easy to think that way when you drop in on their lifestyle for a few hours and then return to fresh bed linens in a Western-style hotel. I had had a minute to talk with one of the locals at the “village” during the afternoon, and he told me how much he wanted to get out of China – to go to live in a city in Korea or the United States. The view from his hut seemed hard to exchange for a life of anonymity in a large city, but to him, the open grasslands probably looked like a mindless, boring lifestyle with no job opportunities.

On the way to Man Zhou Li, we dropped in on a husband and wife who still lived in a set of three traditional, portable huts. While the sixty-something year-old couple seemed to live fairly traditionally, their four sons had all gone off to universities and held jobs in distant cities. A windmill powered their satellite TV. Their rounds huts, seeming so small from the road, are actually rather spacious when you get inside. One of the huts had a wood stove in the middle with a removable flap in the top for venting. Both the man and his wife seemed very cheerful and content to spend the summer poking around their 2,500 acre spread.

Chinese Tourism and the Pursuit of Authenticity

We next found ourselves hurtling along a brand new highway through vast open grasslands in pursuit of the “authentic” Mongolian lifestyle. From our tour buses, we could look out the windows and see ethnic Mongolians（满族）tending cattle or sheep in large rolling pastures. Overall, it appeared something like a cross between Ireland (for the lack of trees and open grass) and Montana (for the way that the sky dominated the landscape). The locals were certainly not nomadic, as fences dotted the landscape intermittently, though periodically they would be on horseback. More strikingly, the distant landscape was dotted with coal-fired electric plants and power lines scattering in all directions. Periodically we would drive by enormous open coal mines that ruptured the landscape, only to be further ruptured by large billboards displaying a pristine Mongolian steppe in the background with a environmentally-conscious Chinese businessman in the foreground, demonstrating how traditional agriculture and modern technology will be able to seamlessly integrate into Inner Mongolia.

At last, we were welcomed into the Mongol “village” – a collection of newly-constructed round sheds (蒙古包) and a string of ponies lower down the hill. By this time, our tour guides had disposed of their own Mongul attire and gave us a quick lesson in how-not-to-offend the locals. We would be welcomed with the traditional shot of white liquor （下马酒）. Before drinking it, we had to take the fourth finger of our right hand and dip it into the cup, flicking once to heaven, once to the ground, and making a crescent on our foreheads. Failing this, we might be run out of the place for being culturally insensitive. But it was all part of the touristy game, as the locals who welcomed us to their lodge in song reminded me of the greeters at TGIFridays. Nevertheless, we partook in the customs and walked three times around their religious site （喇嘛台）, then tossing a ribbon-clad rock onto the large stone marker.

Before lunch, we took turns riding on horses and a grumpy camel. The horses and riders were certainly authentic, and there were certainly no release forms to be signed. However, even the most experienced riders in the group were led in a tame walk by one of the locals. The camel ride cost 30 RMB extra for a ten minute jaunt, but it seemed worth it to have done once. Once I was airborne, the gait was surprisingly comfortable, and I found myself thinking that I would rather ride a camel all day than a horse.

At lunch, we scattered to about a dozen tables surrounding a central dance floor in the “lodge”. Several of the Mongolians had changed into performance attire, including one lady in cow girl boots. Two different men played the Ma tou qin (马头琴) for us. Their skill was exquisite. This particular instrument is Mongolian, and resembles the erhu, although its sound is much more pleasant. Unfortunately for our Western sensibilities, they amplified their instruments with a strategically placed microphone while playing along with a synthetic back-up recording of drums and other instruments, such that it might be mistaken for a rock ‘n’ roll concert. Several Mongolian folk songs later, we finished chewing on the boiled lamb and slowly worked our ways back to the buses.

Five minutes out of the cluster of homes and huts, our director had the buses pull up for a photo opportunity. This portion of the road was nearly pristine. There was green grass in all directions, no factories to be seen and only the distant hills separating us from the Russian border. After the photo, two students decided it might be nice to quickly jog to the top of the nearby hill and take a photo. Within two or three minutes, the entire group was charging up the grassy incline in a long beeline. For some, the sprint quickly turned into a jog which turned into a slow walk; others charged the entire quarter-mile distance. I was impressed to find such a strong masochistic streak in the group, and perhaps it can be chalked up to the type of people who are attracted to studying Chinese.

A Steppe Too Far...

We had been told to expect a welcome reception from the Mongolian people on our arrival at Hailar. As we disembarked from the train and met the cold morning air, our worst fears were confirmed. The weekend was going to be passed not in the traditional style of nomadic Mongolian peoples, but rather in the far more exotic and unintelligible style of modern Chinese tourism. Our three Han tour guides, wearing brightly colored fake Mongol robes over their jeans and sneakers, approached our conspicuous group. One started distributing uniform blaze yellow ball caps, while the other two bestowed each member of our group with a long white sash around the neck. After boarding the two buses to go to breakfast, the tour guide delivered our first welcome address using a microphone that echoed everything like a karaoke microphone.

Our first site was a War Museum dedicated to the Sino-Russian alliance in forcing the Japanese out of Inner Mongolia during World War Two. We walked through the exhibits, housed in the former bunker, and then were surprised to find, at the end of the exhibit, a small oriental rug on the floor. A camera on the wall fed the image from the carpet onto a large TV screen that displayed a panning shot of the Mongolian plains, such that the carpet and anyone sitting on it looked like Aladdin soaring above the fruited plain. But we should not have been surprised, because China is a nation of unexplainable contradictions, and that’s why most of us enjoy spending time here. After spending far too long taking turns on the carpet, we discovered another unusual attraction – an indoor shooting range. For something like 20 RMB, anyone could walk into something that looked like a bowling alley and take three shots at a target with live ammo.

The rest of the morning was spent outside of the museum by the parking lot, where dozens of fake, concrete army tanks and hundreds of over-sized Russian soldiers had been installed so as to appear, from a distance, as if they were attacking the hill. The attackers were themselves besieged with an onslaught of American students and Chinese teachers who proceeded to pose for every conceivable photo using the peculiar backdrop.

Inner Mongolia!

From Harbin, it’s a twelve-hour train ride west to Hailar, a large city in the eastern part of Inner Mongolia, an Autonomous Region of China. Last Friday night, our entire force of 60+ students and teachers boarded the overnight with plenty of Romantic expectations about the northern steppes and the ethnic minorities we would encounter the next day.

Warm beer, which we brought along in great quantities, served to get things hopping in our train car of hard sleepers. Three classmates brought guitars, and so the night passed enjoyably to the sound of classic American songs sung in Chinese translation. Endlessly amusing to Chinese language students, and probably unintelligible to native speakers, this form of rapid lyric translation has become a test not only of one’s command of Chinese vocabulary, but also of the ability to think quickly in rhyme schemes. At nine-thirty, the conductor cut our lights, but well past midnight the party car continued to attract curious Chinese from other compartments whose more conservative passengers had long since gone to sleep.

At about four in the morning, I woke up to drink some water and risk my life by using the facilities (read: hole in the metal floor of the washroom). It was already bright outside, and I found myself staring transfixed out of the window for a long period. I saw a peasant tending his cattle in the wide open landscape, and then as we passed by a small town, a lone conductor in uniform stood watching our train fly by his platform.

Welcome to Harbin!

The State Department has graciously funded two months of "intensive" Mandarin study for 80 Americans in China this summer. 40 of us were assigned to Harbin, 39 of whom survived Swine Flu (H1N1) screening and finally arrived on June 11. We are living in the foreign dormitories of Heilongjiang University in Harbin, China's tenth largest city. From Monday to Friday, we take four hours of classes in the morning, then spend the afternoons doing a variety of culturally-enriching activities. Side trips have been arranged for most of the weekends.

Saint Sophia's Cathedral is the most iconic site in Harbin, although it is no longer used as a church. Harbin became a haven for Russian refugees during the Russian Revolution, and this Orthodox church was built during the heyday of Russian influence. Today, many Russians still visit the city to its location in China's far north, but their architectural influence in the city has all but disappeared. I will write more about the history of Harbin in later postings. Most of the city looks far more mundane, as evidenced by the view from my window.

Harbin is aspiring to attract more foreign language students. Mandarin is the standard language across China. However, almost every region has a separate dialect, and almost every region speaks the standard language with different pronunciations. Residents of Harbin, however, are noted for speaking Mandarin with exemplary pronunciation. Therefore it is an appealing location for learning spoken Mandarin.

The Beginning

This is the first posting on this blog. It was meant to be witty, and interesting. Unfortunately, after two weeks of intense reflection, I have no "slam bang" way to get this started. Therefore, please accommodate your humble correspondant, and rest assured that better posts are yet to come.

In particular, I hope eventually to reflect on the ways that 1.4 billion different Chinese people find meaning in the face of such dense and apparently homogenous lifestyles. Perhaps this process can help me learn more about myself.

Please check in regularly, and post your own comments or questions frequently. Sincerely yours, AN AMERICAN.